Zest
by LJ Summers
Summary: Winner of multiple awards - THANK YOU! Sirius Orion Black took the charge of raising Harry to heart in every way, becoming a pillar of Wizarding Britain. Somewhere along the way, though, he forgot his Marauder side . . . until he meets his soulmate in a surprising place. AU because I change, oh, a LOT of canon. Please read the Author's Notes!
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This fic is an Alternate Universe type of story. That means I have _changed canon events_ , timelines, some characterizations, etc. to suit my wishes. Some of your favorite characters might not be the way you like them.

 **If this isn't your cuppa,** then please be advised that there are **over seven hundred thousand** _Harry Potter_ fan fictions here on FFn. Something is bound to suit you better.

 ** _Legal matters, effective for the entire story:_**

This is a work of derivative fiction. I own many copyrights in the world, but this is not among them, nor will it ever be. All things **_Harry Potter_** are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling and all to whom she has given license. I'm just here because I like a good "What if".

* * *

 **Prologue**

"James! Lily!" Sirius bounced off the Anti-Apparition wards, landing solidly on his arse in the village of Godric's Hollow. He shook off the jolt and pushed himself up to his feet, tears half-blinding his vision. "Harry!"

Extending his wand ahead of him, in case James had put permissions keyed in to each of their magical signatures, he sprinted back to the cottage, leaping over the white wooden gate as it seemed to provide the only reflective surface on the nearly moonless night. He was able to gain entrance to the property this time and a part of his mind—the part that actually managed to get five N.E.W.T.s before leaving Hogwarts—noted that he'd been right about the wand signature and the property wards. It didn't occur to that part of his mind that the wards had been compromised. "James! Lily! Harry!"

There was no answer, just the sound of the autumn winds whistling through holes in the upper story of the small manor house, and the two broken windows he could see. His fractured heart was pounding and Sirius wanted to stop and howl like Moony. After all that hiding, and after making Peter the Secret Keeper—had _he_ been killed as well?

"James! Harry! Lily!"

He didn't even have to push to get the door open, though he hated doing it. The smells that skirled to his nose were redolent with death and dark magic. His knees buckled, but he shook it off and reminded himself that he was an Auror, by Merlin's beard, and he wasn't going to falter.

The first body he tripped over was draped in black. He could smell blood—James must have got some effective hexes in, there. Maybe even a _Reducto_. _Good job, mate_ , Sirius thought, not daring to speak out loud now that he was inside. The second body he tripped over was also draped in black and bound with something . . . something he didn't recognize. Maybe James and Lily had been experimenting in personal defense spells whilst he himself had been away?

The third body he tripped over was wearing trousers and a jumper of Gryffindor red. Sirius let gravity carry him all the way to the floor, his eyes welling with silent grief. Oh, he'd expected this, yes, but he hadn't truly been braced for the visceral punch. _Prongs . . ._ Glasses askew and broken, James stared unseeing at the ceiling, his face frozen in the midst of a shout. Sirius called upon the training he had, the reflexes he depended upon, and felt for a pulse and for breath, but he knew. His inner canine knew.

Fury built up, like the pressure of waves on a beach, as Sirius gently closed James's eyes for the last time before setting the broken eyeglasses to rights. The latter was a futile measure, but it suited his sense of propriety. He took James's wand, tucked it in a pocket, and stared hard at his best mate before rising to his feet. _I'll take care of 'em. Just like we talked about. I swear it_.

The tears fell unchecked as he dashed up the steps to the upper floor.

"Mummy. Mummy?"

The weak, frightened cry shattered his heart but it tugged him to the proper door, as did the scents brought in on moving air. Old leaves, more dark magic. Nappies. Lily. Harry.

 _Harry_. There was no other voice as Sirius entered the nursery, wand in front of him at the ready. It wasn't as dark as it had been downstairs; the ambient light from the starry sky filtered through a haze of the mess that had been left behind.

He shifted and the toddler in the cot jerked, his little body falling on its bum just before Harry screamed with a thick, desperate sound. "Daddy?"

Sirius couldn't contain his sob as he lurched toward his godson. "It's Uncle Sirius. Harry. Uncle Padfoot."

The _fourth_ body he tripped over was Lily's. She had crumpled to the floor, her face anguished but without any visible sign of her demise. _Must have been an Avada_ , Sirius noted with that Auror part of his mind.

He locked the observation away and took a deep breath, remembering what James and Lily had said to him, not too long ago.

 _"Merlin, Pads," James had muttered. "We don't want it to happen, no, but a man's got to be prepared."_

 _"So does a woman," Lily asserted, rolling her eyes but clutching their son against her as she stood, swaying back and forth as if she were a hammock. "And if the worst happens, we'll send a Patronus—"_

 _"Lils, come on!"_

 _"If the worst happens," James said, his voice louder than Sirius's own, "we'll have a bag packed in the pantry downstairs. Not a likely place for a Death Eater, right?" Lily snorted before nuzzling Harry and pretending that everything was fine. "The bag will have clothes, nappies if he's not trained yet, our will, and some other things. We'll have them all shrunken down for you to make it easy, all right?" James's eyes shone with desperate sincerity._

 _Sirius's throat clogged. "Easy?" he tried to say. It came out broken._

 _Lily nodded, her voice oddly soothing as she said what she felt she had to say. "Easier than you having to sort and sift, Sirius. Look," she went on, meeting his eyes over Harry's tousled head. "You were an entitled, self-centered prat when we were in school, but you've got over that, mostly, which is why we both wanted you to be Harry's godfather. I expect you to be there for him if he needs you. Acting like a good Auror, a good man. The man I know you can be. The man I've seen surrender everything materialistic for his principles. The man who will go beyond the bounds of magic for his friends."_

 _"But remember you're a Marauder, too," James had added, trying to bring a smile to the heavy conversation. "Raise him to fly a broom. To find fun. To enjoy a little female challenge now and again."_

 _"Do_ not _mention girls, James!" Lily demanded with an edge to her voice._

 _"Only if she's smart like you, Lily."_

 _Sirius scrubbed at his face, rubbed at his burning eyes to keep his tears inside, and joined in the more lighthearted teasing. "Give me my godson," he said, rising to claim Harry from Lily's arms. "Hey there, Prongslet. We're gonna give your parents something to really worry over, all right?"_

 _And he had carried the toddler out to where his motorcycle waited, settling the pair of them on it with sticking charms before revving up the engine._

 _Lily's furious shouts could be heard through the entire village._

In the nursery, as October passed to November, Sirius nodded, his chest heaving in silent weeping as he gathered Harry next to himself. "C'mon, Prongslet. Let's get your gear and go home with Uncle Padfoot."

Harry was whimpering for his mum and dad, and Sirius almost lost it. Somehow, he gathered a happy memory to his mind. "Watch. I'm remembering the day you were born, Harry. Watch this." He called, " _Expecto Patronum_!"

A large dog, silvery and active, leapt from the tip of his wand. Sirius beckoned to it with his wand hand. "To Remus. The deer . . . are gone."

It was a code that could be said in front of anyone, as any Patronus communication had to be safe to do. But it broke his heart to make the devastating announcement with such tepid words.

"First, we get you safe, lad," he told his godson. "You're my boy and I've promised to do my damnedest for you. For your mum and dad. And I will."

"Mummy?" Harry looked around, straining to see over Sirius's broad shoulder as they left the nursery. "Daddy?"

"Bloody he—, shite, er. No. She's sleeping. Waiting for us on the other side. All right? You and me, we'll do our best until we see her and your dad again."

"See 'gain?"

"Absolutely. But not tonight. Come on."

Sirius would never, in all the years after, know how he managed not to fall apart and scream, cry, break things, or go after Peter Pettigrew, who had clearly broken his vow as Secret Keeper. He would forever and always lay the blame—or credit—on the sacred bond of being a _godfather_. Only Harry's wellbeing could have priority over his burning desire for retribution. For justice.

It always would.


	2. Vignette: Harry 's First Year

**Harry's First Year: The Year Dad Taught Transfiguration & Dueled Snape**

 ** _A/N:_** _Hereafter will be some vignettes for the next chapters, filling in a bit of "how things are" between the prologue and Chapter One of_ Zest _. The perspectives will vary, but I felt the vignettes would help the reader to get a feel for the AU. These will be posting for the next few Wednesdays. They're short, but they're just moments. . ._

 _ **Sherryola** , I think you'll like this one._

* * *

"Now, Harry, I do not want to hear it." Sirius hung his teaching robe up in the wardrobe in his office at Hogwarts. He then proceeded to unbutton the black frock coat he wore underneath that. It was January in Scotland and he had never found warmth within the castle, not since he'd been a lad himself. He rubbed at his arms as Harry scowled before him. "Severus Snape is not going to do anything rash."

"But, Dad, you could—"

"Nor will I," Sirius asserted with one arched brow. "This is a dueling demonstration, not a schoolboy spat." He sighed, though, feeling a bit of regret that he was no longer a schoolboy. That he couldn't just . . . act. That he'd had to grow the bloody hell up all of a sudden and . . .

Harry snorted, a sound that was altogether too cute, Sirius thought. He hid a smile as Harry threw up his hands. "Snape's a git, Dad. He's totally unfair. Takes points from me and Nev just for breathing! You never do that."

"Well, no. Not breathing during Transfiguration would be a problem." And that he was a professor was rather a problem as well. He and Remus, though, came as a package deal and Minerva was Deputizing with a vengeance this year.

"Not breathing during Potions would be okay with me. Can't _you_ teach us Potions? You got your N.E.W.T. in it, right? You had to, didn't you? To be an Auror? And, by the way, Dad, I expect you to kick Snape's arse."

Sirius bit his lip, conflicted with his dual roles of Parent and Professor. The _professor_ in him wanted to snap, "It's Professor Snape; show some respect as you'd want the other snakes to respect me." Which was inconsistent, but honest. The _parent_ , though, wanted to laugh and say, "Oh don't you worry. I'll kick Snape's arse like we did when we were kids."

But then, he remembered that he hadn't done that alone. There had been four of them, back in the day, and . . . And there weren't, anymore.

His duty came to the forefront of his awareness. All that he owed James and Lily for the gift of their trust to raise their son. With a sigh, he ruffled Harry's hair, which had gone from thick, straight, and spiky as a toddler to wavy and smooth as Sirius's own after the blood adoption ritual a decade ago. "I know you do. And I'll do my best. Opening a dueling club this year was my idea, you know."

"But Moony's the D.A.D.A. professor!" Harry closed the wardrobe doors and got Sirius's Auror holster from the large walnut desk that dominated fully one-fourth of the small office space. "Why isn't _he_ dueling you?"

Sirius smiled a little. "Honestly? You can't tell anyone this, Harry. Not even Neville."

Harry grinned and breathlessly promised, "Not even Nev."

"I really, really want to kick Snape's arse."

Harry beamed and Sirius felt he'd done the right thing.

* * *

 _Note: Remember, there are all kinds of **A** in this **U** , so do not expect things to be as they were in the books. I've changed some rules, dates, relationships, etc._

 _See you next week, in which we go to Harry's Second Year: The Twins Find a Map and See Their Brother Has a Man in His Bed._


	3. Vignette : Harry's Second Year

**Harry's Second Year: The Twins Get the Map and Find Their Brother Has a Man in His Bed**

 _ **A/N:** Welcome back to the "catching up to the AU" portion of this story. _ Zest _IS a Sirimione story, but **Sirius and Hermione are still entirely unknown to each other in Harry's Second Year.** Sirius is bisexual in this story, having been in a relationship with Remus for an unspecified amount of time._

 _Thank you to everyone who is reading this story, adding it to their lists, and a cup of coffee to all reviewers! First curtsy goes to **LILHOUSELF** , who tapped review #100. Thank you!_

* * *

"This is the best thing ever made by magic," George Weasley murmured. He was still kind of amazed that he and Fred had stumbled upon the words that made a much-folded piece of parchment into the most amazing map in the history of wizardry, but he didn't question the map's veracity as he and his identical twin spread it between them on his bed in the fourth-year boys' dorm. "Look, there's Sirius Black!"

"Our Transfiguration professor, o'course. And Professor Lupin . . . Wait, did you see that, Georgie?" Fred blinked and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of one hand. "Look at their names for a mo'."

George sat up straight and eyed his brother. "I see. They sleep together. We knew that already, didn't we? It's not like it's a secret now, is it?"

Fred's heart was pounding, though, and it wasn't because these two professors were apparently closer than the norm. "No, look. Their _names_ , George."

George peered more closely at the map and saw what his brother saw. _Sirius Black. Remus Lupin_. And then, there was a shift and shimmer and—

"Bleeding hell!" the boys said in tandem.

"Put a sock in it," Lee Jordan snapped from his bed. "Or go to the Common Room."

It was tempting but, "No thanks," Fred replied, sounding distracted. "It's May, but it's still chilly down there at this hour." He pulled one of George's pillows to his lap and whispered, "Did I really see that?"

"Padfoot and Moony? I think so. Cor blimey, Fred!"

"The _Marauders_ are our _professors_!" They flashed identical grins at one another as they bounced on the bed in as subdued a manner as they could. Fred tapped the map with a knuckle. "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs! D'you think either of the others are here?"

George stopped bouncing and had a think. "Well. Padfoot is Harry Black's dad, yeah? And Harry's friends with Longbottom and cousins with Malfoy." He frowned a bit. "Malfoy would not have been a Marauder. No bleeding way. Longbottom, though? Maybe? He might be . . . hm, well, no. Frank Longbottom went to St. Mungo's, didn't he?"

"That's what I heard, yeah." Fred studied the map some more. "George? There's another one . . ."

"Prongs? Wormtail?"

"Wormtail! Hey, look, he's in our tower!"

Caution danced with elation. "Here? Where? Whe—no. _Ronniekins_ knows a _Marauder_?"

Fred snorted but he also slid off of George's bed. Cool May evening or not, if there was a Marauder in Gryffindor Tower, he wanted to meet him. "I don't know how Ron met him, but I'm gonna meet him as well."

Quiet as cats, the Weasley twins slid from their room and padded down the steps dressed in nothing but their pyjamas until they reached the second-year boys' dorm. They quietly opened the door, hiding the map behind them, and moved between the beds and trunks.

"I don't see a Marauder here," Fred whispered.

" _Lumos_ ," George murmured, taking out his wand and using the soft light of the charm to read the map. "Ron Weasley. Peter Pettigrew!"

"Oi! Scabbers!" Their little brother's pet rat squeaked and ran, scratching Ron's neck as it fled the bed.

"No time to explain," Fred called to Ron as George tore out of the second-year dorm. "We need to find that rat!"

In the end, they ran all the way to the professor's quarters, where they banged on the door to the room shared by the other Marauders.

They were not disappointed with the response and, when Peter Pettigrew was eventually caught and detained at the Ministry, Fred and George were presented with a substantial reward in actual Galleons. The best reward, though, was being named as Honorary Marauders by Padfoot and Moony before the ride back to London that June.

"We'll have you over," Professor Black said expansively. "It'll be fun."

It was.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** "Put a sock in it" comes from my favorite spot for British slang: effingpot dot com slash slang._

 _And finally, I know several of you are wondering, **"Where's Hermione?"** In brief: I wrote the prologue of this story and moved straight into the story proper, writing thousands and thousands of words before I realized that you, my readers, might be unsettled by my changes to the canon timeline. I decided to write a few vignettes to share with you the moments that I feel are HP Significant but also different for this story. Hermione isn't here yet because, when I wrote chapter one, I gave her what I feel is a Big Entrance and I don't want to lessen its impact by bringing her in any earlier. All elements that differ for her will be soon apparent or are shared in the course of the first few chapters of the story. _

_See you next week during **Harry's Third Year: Moony and Luna Talk Stone Secrets**_


	4. Vignette: Harry's Third Year

_**A/N** **:** Thank you once again, everyone, for visiting this AU! I enjoy interacting with all y'all. Always a pleasure **.** More "catching up to the AU" stuff here. Like, what happened to Quirrell? And is this a Wolfstar story?_

* * *

 **Harry's Third Year: Moony and Luna Talk Stone Secrets**

"What the bleeding hell, Headmaster?" Remus Lupin, History of Magic professor due to a curse put on the D.A.D.A. post, had had it with Albus Dumbledore's evasiveness. Remus's all-but-son had apparently slain Professor Quirrell—who was hosting the spirit or soul or essence of the darkest wizard of their time. "Sirius, Sirius would kill you, perform Necromantic rituals, and kill you again!" He'd found out what had happened because he and the Map had been reacquainted thanks to the Weasley Twins, and the knowledge did not put Remus at his ease.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts held up his hands in a placating manner, rising behind his desk to walk around it and speak to the werewolf without a barrier between them. "Now, now, dear boy. Come with me and we'll go to the Hospital Wing and you'll see there's absolutely nothing to worry about. Certainly," he said with a careful tone, "Lord Black won't need to worry about any of it. Everyone's fine, just a bit tired, is all. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

The words cascading behind Remus's closed lips were worse than those he'd already said, so he held them to himself until he'd seen Harry. Even though he and Sirius were no longer together, no longer lovers, they were still the best of friends and Harry was like a son to him. Rather than spewing out his anger and fear, he pounded his feet heavily upon the stone floors of the castle all the way to the Infirmary.

"Harry!" he called upon seeing the boy with his thick black hair and pale face. Bloody hell. The boy was asleep. Remus winced and stepped more quietly.

"Professor!" Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw with eyes that saw everything, greeted him with a bright smile. "You don't have to worry about Harry. He's doing very well. Did you hear? He's a powerful wizard!"

Remus grimaced but was unwilling to brush by the girl without comment; she was motherless and next door to fatherless as Xenophilius was . . . odd . . . "He certainly is, Miss Lovegood, but if what I hear is true—"

"Oh, it is! And ever so exciting. Did you know, there was a logic puzzle that I solved? And Nev took care of the Devil's Snare without blinking an eye. Truly. His eyes were wide open and he looked as if his life depended upon it! And Harry!"

Remus did move past the girl then, crossing the floor to the cot where Harry slept. "And Harry?" he prompted with a whisper.

"He saw the darkest wizard and proved himself to be full of light," the girl stated with quiet confidence. She sounded happy, even, which baffled Remus so much that he put it aside. He couldn't deal with a little girl with a crush on Sirius's son. James's son. Lily's son. Could have been Remus's son as well, but . . .

There was something in Sirius that Remus wasn't reaching, even after decades of friendship and all that they'd been to and for one another. Remus's wolf was seeking his mate and Sirius, well, he had never been solely interested in just males. He had dated girls back in the day and, even now, his attention went that way. So, they'd broken up their housekeeping, even though they were still together for the moons.

Moony and Padfoot would always be there for one another. Always.

Which was why Remus—though Miss Lovegood pled with those big blue eyes and Neville tried to stutter an argument against it—extended his wand and called, "Expecto Patronum!"

His firm command summoned the guardian—his was a wolf—that leapt in a silvery arc before returning to Remus. "Padfoot. Come to school. Harry's proven himself to be," he said before pausing with a wry glance at Harry, "a powerful wizard."

Luna rolled up on her toes and clasped her hands in front of her. "Professor," she said clearly. "It has to be a secret, don't you see? The Stone is a Secret Stone and Harry, Neville, and I are the Secret Keepers. That's important." She nodded abruptly before turning to stare at the sleeping boy on the hospital cot. "He's important. And no one can know, yet."

"His father has a right to know." Remus had spent years as a Marauder and understood the value of secrets, but this? This was so much more dangerous. "Miss Lovegood, don't you see? He needed help, didn't he?" Remus tried to be more on her level, pulling up a chair and looking her straight in the eye. "He's only fourteen. He's still a child; you all are."

The girl just met his gaze implacably. "He's a wizard. A Secret Keeping Wizard. We'll keep his secret, Professor, but you must as well."

"Not from his father." On that point, Remus would not budge.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So that was up through Harry's Third Year. :) Yep, people are already trying to kill him. Poor guy. Wait, there's more. Next week: Harry's Fourth Year: The Year We "Killed the Big Snake".**_


	5. Vignette: Harry's Fourth Year

_**A/N:** Y'all have been awesome with the vignettes. Thank you for reading them and appreciating them for what they are, adding this fic to your lists, and of course for reviewing! _

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**Harry's Fourth Year: The Year "We Killed the Big Snake"**

The scream echoed throughout the stone chamber, leaving Harry stunned and Neville all but unconscious on the floor beside him.

 **. . .**

"The bird may have blinded my basilisk, but she can still _hear_ you!" Riddle had boasted. Harry could hear the words, the implacable tone, even now that the—memory? wraith? ghost? spirit?—of Tom Riddle was gone.

The brilliant phoenix had returned, though, complete with Neville Longbottom and the Sword of Gryffindor. The sword fell to the wet stone floor, clattering loudly, and Nev landed with a much more distracting grunt and a gash on his head which bled profusely.

Ginny was not yet conscious, so Harry shouted, "Nev! It's a snake. It can probably smell you as well as hear you." The enormous reptile arced up, maw open to reveal fangs dripping with some viscous substance.. A hiss slid from its open throat as it lunged suddenly toward Harry.

He dove, this time keeping his glasses on his face.

Nev shouted, "Hey! You! Slithering sack of shite!" The basilisk fell and Harry wondered if it were indecisive. He didn't wonder long, though; he merely rolled over and over on the wet floor until he reached the sword, which he tucked up against himself. _Come on, Nev, do it again_ , he'd directed in terrified silence.

Accordingly, so it seemed, Nev "did it again" and insulted the basilisk extensively, slapping the floor and in general making a loud nuisance of himself.

Harry rolled soundlessly back the way he came, hands on the sword's hilt, until he had to stop just short of the bloody snake. And then, he took a breath and out-Gryffindor'd _Godric_ Gryffindor.

As if they'd rehearsed it—which of course they hadn't, exactly, but the Dynamic Muggle Comic Book Duo of Harry and Neville had been in training together for ages—Neville struggled to his feet, stomping and getting the shade of Tom Riddle to protest with great vehemence. The basilisk lowered to the stone floor and Harry leapt right at her head, sword plunging down!

Of course, he'd used a silent Sticking Charm first, or he'd have been tossed off in a heartbeat, but they did practice slaying dragons, he and Nev, with conjured and transfigured objects. Summers were more fun that way and Charlie, George, and Fred Weasley were aces at transfiguration.

He'd screamed. Neville screamed. Even the spirit of Tom Riddle screamed.

And Neville was bitten by the damned snake.

Harry yanked the fang from his godbrother's arm and, on sheer instinct, slammed it into the bloody diary Tom had waxed on about before.

 **. . .**

The scream totally distracted Harry from the fact that Neville had been poisoned until Ginny shuddered awake and started asking questions and Neville hadn't answered them.

His best mate was growing cold, lying in a slumped heap in a long puddle on the floor.

"Nev! No, Nev, no! No!" Panic jolted in every limb and Harry just shouted, "Help! Hogwarts, help!"

Because he knew the castle was at least a little sentient. Stupid moving staircases were a dead giveaway.

Neville slapped weakly at Harry's arm. "Harry. Shhh. Ginny. You okay?"

"Neville, oh, Neville! You saved me!"

Even dying, Nev could snort. "We did, _little girl._ He called you that."

"What?"

An indignant Weasley girl would have been amusing if Neville hadn't been dying.

But then, Fawkes reappeared, spiraling down and landing with a skin-ripping solidity on Harry's shoulder. The phoenix wept true tears onto Neville's arm and . . .

And all was well.

Later, in the Infirmary, Harry and Neville gripped hands and made an Unbreakable Vow to each other.

"We swear to never reveal that we killed a basilisk until we have our Apparating Licenses. Not to Dumbledore, not to Augusta Longbottom, and certainly not to Sirius Black. Nor anyone else."

"Dad, hi," Harry said weakly, glancing at his dad as Sirius Black swooshed in with his cloak billowing as much as Snape's ever had. "What brings you up to Hogwarts?"

After his dad swore the air almost blue between them, Harry held up a hand. "I swear, all we did was chase a snake. Nev got bit but I killed it." He gave his best innocent smile. "Really. We just killed a really big snake. Oh, and Ginny Weasley is fine, now, in case you're wondering, and the Muggleborns are getting all de-petrified. It's been a long day, though, Dad, and I'm quite tired . . ."

Sirius Orion Black scowled at his son, sure he was being played by a Second Generation Marauder, but he never was able to get the straight story. No one knew anything other than that Harry and Neville had chased Ginevra Weasley, worried about her and a diary she'd thrown away in a girl's toilet, and whilst trying to talk to her, a big snake had slithered out and they killed it.

Girls and their diaries. So much drama!

* * *

 _A/N: Almost there! One more vignette, to post next week, in which Harry is a regular guy . . . sort of._


	6. Vignette: Harry's Fifth Year

_**A/N:** You guys! You're so awesome. Thanks for sticking with these vignettes. Thanks, too, for all who are reading, adding it to their lists, and leaving me comments! A special cup of cocoa to **haydensister** for catching review #200! And now, to the final "catching up to the AU" vignette..._

* * *

 **Harry's Fifth Year: Harry's a Regular Guy . . . Sort of**

"And Harry Black sees the Snitch! Look at him! He's like a charmed arrow!" Lee Jordan, in his seventh year at Hogwarts and an entirely biased announcer, was practically shrieking at the first game between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. "And Cho Chang is _right on his broomstick_ in pursuit—"

"Mister Jordan! Decorum!" Professor McGonagall shouted.

"Sorry, Professor! And there are my best mates, the Weasley Twins, right there to keep everyone else off Black's arse—"

"Mister Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor! And there goes Hutchins for Ravenclaw, aiming the Quaffle at the hoops and oh! Ron Weasley _stopped_ it. First game as official Gryffindor Keeper and he's doing us proud. And look, there's his little sister, Ginny, replacing Finnegan this week as Chaser as he's out with a hexed head."

"Enough, Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor! Say, we should just call our Quidditch team the Weasleydors, since there are so many this term. Sorry, Black! Oh, and he _missed_ the _Snitch_!"

Sirius Black snorted and shook his head, watching his son speed to the far end of the pitch, supposedly in pursuit of the Snitch. That Chang girl was right behind him and Sirius had to smile a little.

He'd promised James and Lily to introduce their son to Quidditch and so he had. Harry Black was the youngest Gryffindor Seeker in generations. Sirius had seen to it that Harry met some pretty and _intelligent_ witches as well, since he'd hit his teens, and Sirius knew for a fact that Harry was pursuing Cho Chang almost as ardently as he flew after the Snitch in a match.

They'd even been to Hogsmeade once already, and Sirius fully expected that Miss Chang would be invited to visit over the winter holiday. It was the way things were done amongst the pure-bloods of Britain, after all.

The Gryffindor team continued to score, with Ron Weasley, Arthur's youngest son, doing a fine job as Keeper and keeping the Ravenclaws from scoring in return. Sirius did hope, though, that the game didn't carry on for more than a couple of hours; he had a meeting with some Americans that evening and then the Wizengamot session on Monday that he had to prepare for. Those werewolf laws weren't going to write themselves.

After the game, he was approached by Albus Dumbledore and sighed while ostentatiously checking his pocket watch. A gift from his Uncle Alphard, Sirius treasured the timepiece, but he was not averse to using it to nonverbally express impatience as well. "What is it?" he asked the headmaster.

Dumbledore's twinkle was not in evidence. "I'm hearing disturbing murmurs," he said quietly. "Death Eaters."

Sirius felt a chill move over his skin. "But, You-Know-Who is . . ."

"Quirrell?"

"Harry—" The memory made him sick, but he couldn't erase it. "I thought that he'd been handled."

"And the diary incident from last year."

Sirius froze in his steps, ignoring the cheering all around them, happy teenagers on their way to celebrate a victory. "Miss Weasley's diary? But, Albus, that's—"

"Just, well, I wanted to warn you. I'm also speaking to Augusta . . ."

"Headmaster! Headmaster!" Percy Weasley approached at that juncture, his spine stiff with some imagined irregularity.

Sirius walked on, barely seeing where he put his feet as he made his distracted way back to the castle proper.

He was still turning Albus's warning over in his mind after the meeting with the American representative of an investment company. Still thinking. Still giving serious consideration to taking his son and leaving Britain entirely.

His communication mirror vibrated and he blinked hard to focus on Harry. "Hello, Son. Good game today!"

Harry didn't look as if he'd caught the Snitch and helped Gryffindor to another Quidditch triumph. Rather, he appeared to be angry and unhappy at the same time. "Dad. It's over. We're through."

"Pardon?" Sirius studied his son's face carefully in the small mirror. Hair askew, a frown between his brows, cheeks pink with emotion. "What happened, Harry?"

A sigh, long and loud. "Cho. We're through, Dad. Totally."

 _Girl trouble_. This was something Sirius felt more than equipped to handle, so he relaxed a bit in his heavily upholstered chair. "What happened, son? Or was it perhaps a 'who'?"

Harry didn't smile in answer; he didn't even try. "Cedric Diggory, Dad. He's Head Boy?"

"Oh, good lad, Diggory. His father works in the Ministry."

"Right. Well, it seems he and Cho have been, well, something? I guess? Even though she and I were kind of going out? Ravenclaw lost, right? And Cedric was, was _consoling_ Cho!" Harry's whole face contorted with emotion. " _Consoling_. _Right_. That's not what I saw. He was _kissing_ her, Dad!"

Sirius winced. This was a far less weighty problem than the warnings he'd been given earlier, but when a man was in his teens, these problems seemed to fill the world. "I'm sorry. That had to be awkward."

"I called it off. Us, you know."

"Of course."

"But, Dad . . ." Harry sighed again and pulled at his hair in a manner so like Sirius had done as a student that it made his chest ache with memories. "How could she do that?"

Sirius shook his head. "I have no idea, Harry. You're awesome."

Harry finally smiled just a bit. "I've had a good example." Sirius felt his heart tighten and his eyes burned before his son quirked an even bigger smile. "You know, Nev is pretty awesome, as well."

Sirius had to laugh and Harry laughed and, though separated by most of the length of Britain, father and son were both strengthened by that laughter. That moment with a mirror.

After they'd said their goodnights, Sirius blew out a breath and studied the fire in the hearth. He remembered the damned prophecy. Winced over those who had died. Wondered what the coming years might bring. Cursed the very existence of Death Eaters and pondered what Albus had been about to tell him regarding a girl's diary.

And he vowed, once more, to do his best for Harry.

He rose to his feet and tried to shake off his misgivings. Maybe he could find his son another pretty, intelligent witch?

* * *

 _A/N: So we've gone up through the first five years in Harry's Hogwarts Education. Yay!_

 _To sum up the AU so far: Harry is Harry James Black. Sirius adopted him in blood and magic in November of 1981, making Harry a pure-blood. He was raised by Sirius and Remus. Sirius was a professor at Hogwarts during Harry's first and second years; after he and Remus broke it off, Sirius left the school and is managing the estates and writing laws and so on. The_ **Philosopher's Stone** _events happened in Harry's third year. The _**Chamber of Secrets** _, his fourth. Umbridge hasn't made an appearance yet. _

_What about the Triwizard Tournament? Well..._

 _T_ _he story proper starts in the next chapter. I'll meet you outside the Champions' Tent next week. Yep._


	7. Chapter One: Lord Black is Worried

_**A/N:** Patience is rewarded! Thank you all so much for putting up with my "Catching up to the AU" portion of this story. Here we get back to where I originally figured to drop you after the Prologue. My thanks to everyone who is reading and adding this story to your lists. And extra butterbeer for all who are reviewing!_

 _Hermione features prominently beginning here. Finally, right? I'm even posting early!_

 _ **Remember, this is an AU.** The times and dates and events and people **are not guaranteed to be canonical** in **any way**. This is your final warning . . . leave now if this is problematic for you. _

**_* Welcome to 1996 and the Triwizard Tournament.*_**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Lord Black is . . . Worried**

 ** _25 November 1996_**

The noise made Sirius cringe a bit as he approached the Champions' Tent outside of the arena near Hogwarts. His hearing would always be more acute than that which a non-Animagus possessed, but it wasn't normally a problem. For Remus, it would be. But his best mate and Harry's honorary uncle had a full moon to deal with that night and wouldn't be able to handle the Tournament.

So Sirius was facing the crowd alone, that day. His son had been a berk—a Marauder, through and through—and had been chosen as Hogwarts's Triwizard Champion. How, by Merlin's saggy drawers, had he managed that?

 _"_ _There was just one trial, Dad," Harry had told him through the communication mirror. "Aside from having to have taken your O.W.L.s, that is."_

 _"_ _Just one?" Sirius had snorted. "What, see if you'd jump off the Astronomy Tower blindfolded?"_

 _Harry had rolled his eyes. "No. Just our blood and a wand. Now, Dad," he'd said quickly, cutting off Sirius's protest, "it wasn't dark blood magic. Dumbledore said it was a test to assure him that we were willing to experience pain and uncertainty. So, I sliced open my palm and dipped my wand in my blood, and then wiped it off on a special piece of spelled parchment."_

 _"_ _And then what happened?" Sirius had almost been afraid to inquire._

 _Harry grinned, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "And the magic made my blood into my signature, as if I'd signed it myself!"_

 _"_ _In your own blood?"_

 _Harry had mustered a serious expression from somewhere. "Yes. I know, it sounds a bit odd, but I healed up quickly. We all did. And then, we were able to try for the Goblet of Fire. If the Goblet accepted the parchment, there was this, this silver flame. Like a Patronus, Dad! And if not, well, you got knocked back on your arse."_

 _Despite the gravity of the situation, Sirius had to chuckle. "In front of everyone?"_

 _"_ _Yeah. It was kind of embarrassing. Nev and Ron and I all tried. Ron got knocked back."_

The Goblet had accepted Harry James Black's name, though, and on Hallowe'en night, it apparently offered it out to Albus as the Champion for the school.

A brisk wind blew Sirius's hair back from his face. The wind smelt of sulphur, grass, rain, and magic. He inhaled deeply, pleased enough to have layers of fabric to keep himself warm. He wore silver-shot black, head to toe, save for a Gryffindor Crimson waistcoat with golden buttons. He had learnt, over the years, to tread the line between being the Patriarch for the Ancient and Noble House of Black and a Gryffindor-Against-His-Family's-Wishes. Dragonhide boots completed his ensemble. He felt he would not embarrass his son at what was far more than merely a school event.

"Lord Black." Headmaster Albus Dumbledore drew near Sirius with an extended hand and warm smile. "Welcome to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament." Sirius regarded his former professor and former boss tolerantly, taking in the deep blue robes with their silvery spangles, the silver metal woven into the snow-white beard, and the black velvet boots. "Your son has been an exemplary Champion to date."

"Harry's a good lad," Sirius replied with a proud nod. Then, he stepped back to allow Albus to move on graciously, but there was a slight delay. "What?" he inquired as Dumbledore's eyes narrowed with intent.

Albus leaned closer, on the obvious pretext of brushing a piece of lint of something from Sirius's own shoulder. "Watch Karkaroff."

The name was familiar and Sirius stiffened. "Bloody hell. He's here?" It took a deal of restraint not to look about for the dark Russian. The man had been a Death Eater. Granted, a cowardly one who had turned in his fellows, but still. A chill that hat nothing to do with a November in Scotland sank into Sirius's skin.

"He is the Headmaster at Durmstrang."

"Perfect. I will keep an eye open, Albus."

"Thank you." With a return to his customary affability, the headmaster of Hogwarts moved on to the next man outside the Champions' Tent. "Lord Krum." Albus offered the Bulgarian noble a sharp bow of the head. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Thank you," the hawk-nosed man said, his tone crisp. "Your arena appears to be well warded."

Albus smiled briefly. "We tried. Your son has made quite the impression as Champion. He's sure to do well, today."

Sirius remembered when he first saw Lord Krum's son, Viktor. It had been at the World Cup just a few months prior, and he and Harry had had seats in the Top Box. He'd mingled as expected and made sure that Harry had a souvenir from each team to wave about. Harry and Ron Weasley were mates, and even Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were sociable, so that Draco was as well. It had been a peaceful time until the chaos of the Death Eaters.

Had Karkaroff been there?

Narcissa had seen to it that the _Blacks_ were no longer involved with the Death Eaters, at Sirius's bidding. It was good to wield active, useful influence. He grimaced at memories—reminders he'd kept active so as to never fall that far again—of his younger years. His years as a Marauder, that tightly knit bond of friends. Animagi and a werewolf. They'd been . . .

And then he'd betrayed Remus's trust. Before _Peter_ betrayed them _all_ , Sirius had betrayed _Remus_ and that was . . . still . . . a hard thing to glance at in his mind. Even decades later. Oh, he and Remus were still very close, and had raised Harry together as a family until after Harry's second year here at Hogwarts, but those days were over as well.

Albus was turning to leave after having spoken with Lord Krum, and Sirius was struck by a lack. "Er, Albus?"

Eyes twinkling and alert, the older wizard smiled. "Yes, Sirius?"

"I noticed that the third Champion's family isn't here. Harry said that there was a girl from Beauxbatons."

"Ah, yes. Mademoiselle Granger." He cleared his throat and invited Sirius to walk beside him on the way to the viewing stands, near where the judges were. "We have special seats set aside for family, here, and you and Lord Krum are, of course, more than welcome." Sirius nodded politely at those who greeted him, including several professors as well as some of the students with whom he and Harry were acquainted. The Weasley twins were scampering off not too far away, weaving in and out, making book, it seemed to him.

He grimaced and hoped they did not approach him. He liked the boys, and their hero-worship of him and Remus was amusing and a bit gratifying on occasion, but he was not prepared to listen to any discussion of odds regarding the coming Task.

Cushions with the Hogwarts crest were waiting at the seats to which Dumbledore directed them. "Mademoiselle Granger's parents?" he said to prompt the headmaster.

"Yes. Well, they're Muggles, you see. So they aren't able to be here."

Sirius halted in the act of sitting down. "Pardon? Truly? A Muggleborn witch was chosen as a Champion?" He couldn't help but think of Lily, who would have kicked some serious arse as a Champion if the Triwizard Tournament had been held during their years at Hogwarts.

Albus gestured to the cushion, seating himself at the same time. "I know you aren't mired in blood prejudice, my boy. So why are you surprised?"

Blowing out a breath, Sirius scanned the ragged quarry that would serve as the arena for the upcoming Task. He was worried, dreadfully worried, for he knew _what_ his son would be facing that day. But he couldn't let it show; too many eyes. Always too many bloody eyes were on him and on Harry. "Harry hadn't mentioned that the Beauxbatons Champion was Muggleborn," he said at length. "It must be hard for them, to have their daughter involved in such a tournament when they are unable to witness it."

"As to that, I really couldn't say. Minerva met them though, years ago when delivering a personal invitation to the girl to attend here."

More people were climbing the steps to fill in the seats available for the audience to what could be an obscene form of entertainment or an elaborate tragedy. Sirius schooled his expression, only allowing a small scowl as he took in the ridiculous excitement displayed by nearly everyone in attendance. Lord Krum strode rather magnificently to join them, with a dark, bearded man at his side. They spoke in some language Sirius didn't recognize, but it was harsh in accent.

It seemed odd to him that there were no Frenchmen around. The headmistress, to be sure, but all the rest of the Beauxbatons students were gathered in another section and Sirius couldn't hear them.

"So Minerva met her parents?" Sirius inquired belatedly.

Albus nodded, but stood and smoothed his beard. "She did indeed. However, Mademoiselle Granger was not willing to transfer. I must join the judges now, so I'll see you later. You are, of course, welcome to stay tonight after the Task. I'm sure Harry will enjoy having you. I'll make the Lord's Suite available."

Sirius nodded, but made a note to contact Moony on the mirror to see if he would have _company_ for the full moon before he'd accept. Then he inhaled deeply to center himself as he let the weight of the day settle on his shoulders. He could feel the tension in the arena swirl and mount, climbing, well, like a dragon into the sky.

"Krum! Krum! Krum! Krum!" The chant reverberated through the arena, the syllable solid and nearly tangible as the students from Durmstrang called out their support for their Champion. Lord Krum stood and bowed to the young people, his back as stiff as an oak.

In contrast, the cheers for Sirius's own son were more raucous but less formal. "Har-ry! Har-ry! Har-ry! Har-ry!" It wasn't his surname, but from somewhere off to his right, he could hear the Weasley twins shout, "Take a bow, Padfoot!" They had owled him that they were going to be here, to support Harry in his Task. Well, Charlie the dragonologist _was_ their brother; likely the twins knew what Harry would facing.

There was some scattered laughter; most of Gryffindor, at least, knew of his Animagus identity and Marauder name. Harry had always been proud of him. So, with a smile he knew was at least partly feigned, Sirius stood and waved a bit. A Marauder didn't _bow_ , unless it was in fun with a chosen girl. The resultant applause warmed him a bit, easing the stress he felt for a heartbeat or two.

But then it was back, before he fully registered that he hadn't heard the French Champion's name. Because it was then that the Task got underway in full.

"Our three Champions will each be facing a dragon in order claim a golden egg which contains the most important clue for the Second Task."

The chill breeze that fluttered banners around the arena did not do anything for the sudden sweat on Sirius's forehead.

The first dragon was led out into the arena by none other than Charlie Weasley and a team of dragon handlers from Romania. Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, made full use of a Sonorus Charm as the audience seemed to take in a gulping breath that Sirius could swear was audible.

"And here, for our first Champion, we introduce the Romanian Longhorn! Those golden horns are beautiful, aren't they, but not as beautiful as our first champion, _Mademoiselle_ Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons!"

"Beauxbatons! Beauxbatons! Beauxbatons!" The chant began with that school's contingent, but it spread a bit as the young woman stepped into the quarry-like arena. The Romanian Longhorn was not as big as some dragons Sirius had seen in his life—including the conjured ones that the Weasley twins had made for practice—but even chained she was big enough to make the Beauxbatons Champion appear unbearably tiny.

 _Will Harry look that small when it's his turn? Merlin. James, Lily, I should have homeschooled him!_

The Champion made a mad dash right under the dragon's throat before turning sharply and continuing to run around the entire outline of the huge, scaled body. Shouts and even jeers rose from the stands as she did so.

"What the bloody hell?"

The dragon roared, thrashing her tail so hard that it cut sharp slices off the surrounding stone.

"She's going to get crushed!"

"Gordon _Bennett_ , the girl's got big brass ones!" _That_ was from one of the Honorary Marauders—Sirius thought it was George. He knew their voices better than the voices of the other Weasley sons. And he was inclined to agree with him.

The Champion continued to run even as the Romanian Longhorn started to get agitated, making growling noises and arching its neck back and forth and around while it moved within the confines of the chain. The girl's wand was out and she was clearly using it for some purpose. She wore a tight suit of what appeared to be body armor—did she really have dragonhide?—in a dark blue color that matched her ankle boots.

"What is Mademoiselle Granger doing?" Bagman asked in his enhanced, rounded tones. "Oh, look! The dragon is turning! She's going to flame!"

This last was obvious and even the Weasley twins were shouting at the girl to get away as the Longhorn drew her head up and inhaled deeply, so that her tawny chest grew before their eyes. The girl ran, actually _leaping on the dragon's claw_ and scrambling up its haunches. The Longhorn screeched, her tail lifting high into the air as she seemed about to flame her own body to rid herself of the human.

Just as the dragon opened her jaws, Granger rolled off and under, continuing to wave her wand about and shouting, " _Committo_!" before the tail swept her off her feet.

She landed on her back and rolled over the edge of the rock shelf she'd been standing on. The Longhorn spun, her chain scraping the rock as the dragon once again expanded her chest and throat to flame.

A young man shouted incredulously, "She's not even watching!"

"I can't look, I can't!" a girl called, her voice thin and high.

Sirius darted a glance toward the half-giantess who'd been introduced as the Headmistress for Beauxbatons. The woman was leaning forward over the festooned table with the other judges, her hands clasped before her face. Almost as if she were a Muggle at _prayer_.

What did they _teach_ at Beauxbatons, anyway?

The Champion tucked her wand into the thick braid she wore about her head as she climbed up a steep slope to where the golden egg gleamed in the pale light of the late autumn day. Sirius found himself holding his breath, counting his heartbeats, sure that the _mademoiselle_ would be charred in the next one.

The roar, when it came, was tremendous. The accompanying gout of orange-white flame made him wince. He opened one eye, slowly, as the arena went absolutely quiet.

She had to be dead. He felt his chest hurt, just thinking it. Still he swallowed back bile and searched the arena, expecting to see a petite pile of ash or a blackened human figure.

"Merlin! The girl warded the bloody dragon!"

Sirius felt his eyes bug out—he'd heard that expression before, but never knew what it meant until that moment. "What?" he said, gasping.

A shimmer in the air surrounded the Romanian Longhorn, and the dragon herself appeared a bit singed about the wing and the tip of her tail, but she was still feisty enough to shift her body. Granger, the Champion, achieved her goal whilst the dragon built up more flame.

With a huge smile, Granger hefted the egg over her head before tucking it next to her body and rolling down the other side of the slope. She landed, retrieved her wand from where it had slipped, and dashed toward the gated exit from the quarry-like arena. Her face was scraped, her hands bleeding, but otherwise, she appeared unharmed.

The Longhorn roared again, but without flame. Sirius supposed she knew she'd lost.

The judges all gave the Granger girl their marks. "Excellent use of warding, ten points," Dumbledore proclaimed.

"Bravery and agility, ten points," Madame Maxime declared.

Sirius was a bit surprised when Durmstrang's headmaster nodded slowly. "Slow. The Champion was slow and almost lost wand. Five points." Sirius focused and could swear he heard the man mutter, "Mudblood," under his breath.

 _Bleeding Death Eater._

The other judges stared at him in patent disbelief, and the students from Beauxbatons hissed as if they were a nest of bloody vipers.

"Our next champion will be met by none other than a Norwegian Ridgeback! A dangerous dragon for a dangerous Durmstranger, Viktor Krum!"

Sirius didn't have the same emotional investment in Krum's confrontation with the Ridgeback. Perhaps, he'd reflect later, it was due to Granger being female. Perhaps because she had been the first. Perhaps because she had seemed more vulnerable, with the figure-hugging bodysuit and . . .

 _She's a student, Padfoot_ , he admonished himself. _Stop it._

Krum received twenty-seven points to Granger's twenty-five. There was quite a break before the final dragon was presented, and Sirius felt himself start to sweat again. Heavily.

His heart pounded, his hands even shook a bit as he gripped the armrests of his cushioned seat behind the judges. Lord Krum, next to him, had been every bit as nervous when his son was facing a dragon, so Sirius tried not to feel emasculated when he had to literally force himself not to scream, "Harry! Get your arse up here!" as soon as his son appeared at the shadowed Champions' Entrance to the arena.

A Hungarian Horntail awaited him. Sirius wanted to vomit.

"And our final Champion, representing Hogwarts herself, is Harry Black!" The stands went mad, and Sirius felt his nausea abate somewhat to hear the unabashed support his son received from his schoolmates. He blew out a hard breath and hoped to Merlin that Harry was ready.

 _"_ _I heard it was going to be dragons, Dad, so it's a good thing me and Nev have practiced, yeah?" Harry had whispered via the communication mirror. "Hagrid showed me. Madame Maxime knew as well; I saw them. And did you know that Hagrid and Maxime might be an item?"_

 _Half-convinced his son was in jest about the dragons, Sirius had shaken his head. "So how're you going to get around a dragon? Fly?"_

 _"_ _Dad! That's a brilliant idea!"_

Sirius looked for a broom, but Harry didn't have one with him. Had he performed a Shrinking Charm on one? It didn't appear to be the case. Sirius recalled that neither of the other Champions had had anything other than a wand, either. _Bloody hell, what's Harry going to do?_

The Horntail was furious, that was clear. She was thrashing her tail and flaring her wings as if she'd break her chain and fly. With very little warning, she let loose a blast of flame and Sirius shouted as Harry dove behind a boulder to shield himself. Sirius flicked his wand to his hand; he would not see his son turned into a shish-kabob!

" _Accio Firebolt!_ " Harry shouted before dashing around the fire-blacked boulder and up toward where the new golden egg rested. Sirius could barely draw a breath as Harry darted hither and yon, evading the wild movements of the Horntail whilst keeping an eye on the sky.

Had the broom been too far away? Had his son been able to Summon it at all?

"Oh! No!"

"Harry!"

"Bloody hell, Black!"

From somewhere, a girl screamed in terror and Sirius had all he could do not to leap into the arena himself and distract the dragon so his son could get away. James, he was sure, would have done so.

Lily wouldn't have hesitated. After all, she hadn't before.

* * *

 _A/N: So now you've seen Hermione. Hope you liked her big entrance! She'll have lots to say later this week. I'm thinking Thursday, since VIKINGS is over until Season Five._


	8. Chapter Two: What Hermione Learnt

_**A/N:** This chapter is ridiculously long for me, but I couldn't bring myself to divide it. Note (with thanks to **mojowitchcraft** for pointing it out) Viktor Krum is still a seventh year in this story. I didn't age him up, so he and Harry and Hermione are more nearly on par. Also for clarity, all Hogwarts students who had completed their O.W.L. year and up were allowed to try for the Tournament, per the convo Sirius and Harry had early in the prior chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter Two: What Hermione Learned in France**

 ** _25 November 1996_**

Hermione Granger stood next to Viktor Krum on one side of the viewing stands. She had been pointed in that direction after being seen to by a Healer in a tent that was adjacent to the one she and the other Champions had chosen their dragon breeds in. She was leaning on the rail with one hip, wishing that she'd thought to bring a cloak with her that day. With all the adrenaline from earlier, she hadn't noticed the chill in the air until just that moment.

Her companion had no such problem, as he was covered in a fur-lined cape. " _Look, Hermione,_ " Viktor murmured in French, the language they had most fluently in common. " _Black Summoned his broom! I have heard rumors of how well he flies_."

She bit her lip and cradled her egg in her arms as she would an infant. " _I saw him and his friend over the Quidditch pitch. He's quite good_." She smiled a little. " _So are you, I hear._ "

He laughed quietly and rocked back on his heels, his gaze fixed on Black. " _I did not think to fly, though_."

" _Blinding was effective. Much faster as well. Oh! Look! The dragon's trying to fly!_ " _Much faster_. She'd been judged as _slow_ by Viktor's headmaster . . . well, she could not be the best all the time.

Viktor said something in Bulgarian that Hermione did _not_ wish to translate. " _She is pulling hard on her chain. I hope it does not break_."

Startled, Hermione straightened up. " _Is it possible? For it to break?_ "

" _Da_ ," he said, not in French but in Russian, she was rather certain. " _But I am sure the dragon masters there have taken all care_."

" _I'm sure_ ," she said, lying. Then, it happened. " _Merde_!" she swore in her turn. She was sure Viktor's harsh expletive was similar in connotation. "Careful, Harry!" she shouted in English as the Hogwarts Champion jumped on his broom and left the arena entirely.

She heard a pair of wits shout, "Go, dragon!" and winced. What a rude, classless thing to say! And with Harry's own father here, as well!

His father. Harry Black was a pure-blood and _his_ father could attend the Triwizard Tasks. Lucky bloke. She turned to find the man whom Viktor had pointed out as Lord Black, when he'd shown her where his father, Lord Krum, was.

Lord Black.

She had done her research, of course, on the other Champions. It would have been foolish of her not to do all she could to learn about the competition, and Hermione endeavored never to half-arse any project she undertook. Viktor Krum was touted as being the "best Seeker in the world". He was a graduating student of Durmstrang, a professional athlete, and born to a ranking family in his native Bulgaria. That he was also competing here at the Triwizard Tournament spoke to his tendency for overachievement. Something Hermione related to all too well. Additionally, he had proven to be well-spoken (in French) and a gentleman.

Harry James Black had not proven to be such. At least not to the degree of Viktor. He was a nice boy with a complicated backstory. According to the books on English Wizarding History, Harry Black had been born Harry _Potter_. His parents were slain by a man claiming to be a Dark Lord, leaving the boy with a famous scar and a legend behind him. Harry was adopted in blood and magic by his godfather, Lord Sirius Orion Black, current Patriarch of the Black family, and Harry himself was the man's heir, made a pure-blood through the adoption process. Lord Black was single, never wed, and promoted blood equality in England's government. Viktor stood for the same.

So did Hermione herself, of course, though she had no voice in France nor England and likely never would.

Harry Black dove down at that moment, splitting the air with an audible hissing sound. The dragon roared, far above, and Hermione held her breath, clutching her egg even more tightly as Black seemed to try to suicide at the rocky peak where his egg waited. Then, the Hogwarts Champion sped next to it, all but skimming the shale with this toes as he reached for the egg and—

Viktor shouted his approbation with a fist in the air. " _Toĭ go imame!_ "

"He did it!" Hermione whispered, thrilled and amazed. "Sweet Circe."

The stands erupted in cheers for a brief moment. Then, the Hungarian Horntail—wicked beast, really—swept over the stands and the cheers changed to screams of abject terror.

Hermione only smiled. She'd been on top of a dragon less than an hour prior, and was not afraid of one that wasn't even aiming any fire at her. Arrogant of her? Perhaps. She didn't care. Instead of cowering in fear as her schoolmates were doing, she stood tall and studied the Horntail's underbelly.

And winced a little. She could see grooves where the chains had bitten into the mother dragon's hide. "Dreadful what happens for entertainment," she muttered in her native English.

Viktor followed her gaze, even as three dragon tamers on brooms launched into the sky to catch their runaway charge. "Yes," he said shortly. "Not fair to them."

* * *

They were posed in the arena after everyone had left. She, Harry, and Viktor. Each held their egg. Each had their headmaster—headmistress in Hermione's case—behind them. It was time for introductions and press interviews whilst the Champions were still in their competition garments.

Quite dramatic, she supposed.

They posed with her in the middle as the only female. Then with Viktor in the middle as he was the tallest of them. Finally, with Harry in the middle, as he was the local Champion.

"Was that a fire ward you used, _Mademoiselle_ Granger?" the reporter, a Miss Skeeter, asked in a slow, high voice, as if she were speaking to a three-year-old.

Hermione exchanged a quick quirk of a smile with both the boys. " _Oui_ ," she answered. Behind her, Headmistress Maxime changed a laugh into a cough but let Hermione do the interview her way, which was in feigned-accented English. " _Une flamme barrière_. A, flame fence? Ward. Ward, you say here."

After the interviews were finished and the photographs taken, Viktor bowed to Madame Maxime and Hermione, and spoke in French. " _I'd like to introduce you to my father, ladies_."

" _Merci, Monsieur Krum_ ," Madame Maxime said, her voice deep and resonant.

Harry Black caught Hermione's eye and, while pretending to turn his head to tie his dark, wavy hair back into its leather thong, he winked at her. She was glad he had caught on to the jest and would play along with her.

" _Father, please make the acquaintance of Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons. Madame, this is my father, Lord Grigor Krum, Member of Parliament._ " Hermione watched the adults make the proper courtesies before Viktor turned to her. " _And this is their Champion, Hermione Granger_."

" _Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Krum_ ," Hermione said in her flawless French. Her first au pair had been French, and Hermione and her family had holidayed in France every summer of her life, even before she enrolled at Beauxbatons.

Viktor then introduced his father to Lord Black and Harry Black, speaking in heavily accented English. After that, it seemed as if Harry would himself introduce his father, but Lord Black surprised them all.

Hermione hadn't _focused_ on the man until just that moment, as there had been multiple people for her to learn about that day. But when Lord Black crossed the small shale plate upon which they had all been standing, she couldn't help but stare. He was smiling broadly, his hands extended to Madame's. " _Bonjour_ ," he said in perfect French. " _We have all been formal enough, have we not? Welcome to Scotland, Madame Maxime. And well done_ ," Lord Black went on to Hermione herself before taking her hand in his and dropping the barest of kisses over her scraped knuckles. " _You were amazing, Mademoiselle Granger_." She felt a shivery tingle sweep under her skin at the contact, and color rose to her cheeks.

She blinked and looked to Harry Black, who was smirking at her, silently daring her to keep up the _Française_ façade. " _Merci_ ," she murmured, bringing her gaze back to the dashing man who was still holding her free hand. His eyes were striking, the light gray irises framed with thick black lashes and topped by elegantly masculine brows. His skin was not the pale English complexion she normally associated with her countrymen, but had some color to it. He had passed on his dark wavy hair in the news-worthy blood adoption of his son, Harry. His smile was infectious and she met it with her own. " _You are too kind, Lord Black_."

She watched him translate her words, seeing the way his focus shifted to some invisible spot over her right shoulder as he did so. People filed things away in their minds—she certainly did, and she knew exactly where everything was stored—in quadrants, generally. " _Not at all_ ," he murmured eventually. He smiled at her again, his eyes warm. " _I had heard that your parents were unable to join us. I am sorry_."

That had been unexpected, and she exchanged a quick glance with her headmistress, who merely offered a Gallic shrug. Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she offered in accented English.

Viktor and Harry both smiled, the former nodding and the latter covering a smirk.

Dumbledore of Hogwarts cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. Let's allow our Champions to rest themselves after their ordeal. We will celebrate the Task's safe conclusion tonight in the Great Hall."

Hermione watched as Viktor and his father, and Harry and _his_ father, paired off and spoke in quiet conversations. The Durmstrangers moved with Headmaster Karkaroff to the great, bespelled boat that rested in what was known as Black Lake. The Englishmen moved off with Dumbledore toward Hogwarts Castle. A sharp pain lanced through Hermione's chest suddenly, making her eyes burn with the strength of it.

Maxime patted her shoulder. " _Come, Hermione. You should rest. We are so proud of you!_ "

Making herself smile, Hermione did as she was told, pretending that she didn't mind that she had no family there to congratulate her and that her schoolmates had gone on without waiting.

* * *

The table arrangement in the Great Hall was a bit different, Harry noted as he and Sirius emerged from the Guest Suite assigned to Lord Black. The Head Table was as usual but the House Tables were a bit tightly packed in order to accommodate one additional table—smaller, but still there—against the far side of the Hall. The magical ceiling displayed distant stars as a backdrop to festive floating candles. The atmosphere was redolent with the real or charmed scent of beeswax, in addition to the positive atmosphere.

Dumbledore met them with an expansive smile. "Good evening! Let me escort you to the Champions' Table," he offered. "Everyone's in good spirits, of course, what with the excitement of the day not being dampened by any serious injury."

Harry lifted a brow at his headmaster but didn't dispute the elder wizard's claims. He'd been a bit singed, Viktor had had a shoulder dislocated in addition to having lost some of his hair due to dragonfire and Hermione— _oh, Hermione_ —had been scraped over most of her visible skin. If she hadn't been wearing armor—Where had she come by so much dragonhide?—she could have been grievously injured. He had to find out what she did to avoid getting singed herself.

Dadfoot snorted as he strode next to Dumbledore. Harry listened from just behind them. "Albus," Dad said, "that was the most dangerous thing I've ever seen my kid do. I'd just as soon not ever have to see him do something like that again."

It was Harry's turn to snort, and he did. Dad wasn't wrong; he just hadn't seen the Chamber of Secrets. Harry'd glossed over that whole "killing an enormous basilisk" bit. _"Killed a snake, Dad. Nev was with me. It was awesome. Yeah, the Weasley girl is fine, now."_

He and Neville had sworn to keep that secret from both their families until they were of legal age to Apparate! Because if you told your dad something like that? You wanted to be able to get out of his way immediately, right?

The Champions' Table was already partially occupied by Viktor and his father. Viktor's mum had died years before, and Harry felt bad—for Viktor, of course, and for himself, because he couldn't really remember his mum enough to mourn her, though his dad mourned both Harry's mother and father even years after their deaths.

Dumbledore said nice things and everyone shifted about a little. Sirius didn't want to sit with his back to the room, so they did not sit across from the Krums, choosing instead to sit next to them so that Viktor and Harry sat next to each other.

Harry offered the older boy a wry smile. "Well, hair grows back," he murmured.

" _Da_ , I know it. But before Yule?"

"That, I don't know." Harry sighed, grateful that his singed sections of hair had been trimmed to no ill effect, overall.

The other tables were gradually filling and soon, the notable "dress blues" of the Beauxbatons students began filtering in. She had come, Hermione had, but for whatever reason, Dumbledore hadn't brought her immediately to the Champions' Table. Harry wanted to growl.

"She's a pretty girl, _Mademoiselle_ Granger," his dad said quietly.

Harry met his gaze. "And brilliant. I've seen her studying in the Library. The girl never has just one book open. It's always two or three, with a self-writing quill working hard."

His dad grinned. "You seem to have an eye for pretty, intelligent, exotic brunettes, there, Prongslet."

Blushing, Harry looked about and wished the food would appear. "Dad. . ."

With a laugh, his dad ruffled Harry's hair. "There was Miss Chang last year, right? Seeker for, what was it? Ravenclaw?"

"She's with Diggory, remember." That still rankled. He'd been rather humiliated after a certain Quidditch match last year.

"He's Head Boy, isn't he?"

" _Last_ year, Dad. He's with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, now. Cho's Head Girl, though."

"Ah. I don't fault your choices at all, son," his dad said quietly, a smile in his eyes. "Look, go invite _Mademoiselle_ Granger over. She _should_ be at the Champions' Table. And isn't she talking with your friend, Miss Lovegood? And Nev. You're practically family."

Nerves seemed to besiege Harry just then, but he stood and hoped he wasn't blushing—again!—as he made his way down the table and over to where the Ravenclaws were. He hadn't spent a lot of time with the other Champions, but there had been some conversations in the Library or whilst all three of them were out running to prepare for the Task. (Viktor, for example, was big on physical fitness.) Harry knew Hermione Granger was English and a Muggleborn. He knew she was in her seventh year at school. He knew she was brilliant and brave and now he knew that she looked amazing in body armor.

He was fairly certain he'd be seeing her in his dreams, later.

Approaching her at the long Ravenclaw table, though, he did his best to focus on her long, thick hair. It fell in heavy, dark brown waves almost to her waist. Her skin was on the darker side of olive complected, and her eyes were almond-shaped and sharp in expression. Still, she had a sense of humor that she tried to keep under wraps by pursing her lips often. Her hands, he saw as he drew near, had been healed of the scrapes acquired earlier in the day, and she was sketching something out with the tip of her wand in the air between her and the girl opposite: Luna Lovegood. Luna was a friend and a hell of a girl to have at your back if there was a logic puzzle in the offing.

"Oh, hello, Harry," the blond Ravenclaw said. She smiled up at him in a dreamy sort of way.

He smiled back. "Hello, Luna. Hermione." He waited for a moment whilst Hermione finished what looked to be an Arithmancy equation. "Ladies, I wanted to extend a formal invitation to the Champions' Table. Hermione," he added, "I have no idea why the headmaster didn't bring you over already. Sorry."

Hermione merely shrugged in the manner that many French girls had even though she was English. "Don't worry, Harry. I wasn't expecting to sit there as I have no family with me."

He grimaced and felt like he had to bring out his best manners in compensation for the lack presented by his home school. "My father wants to change that. So, please join us. Unless you would rather not. We don't wish to make you uncomfortable in any way. However, I _would_ like to hear how you got your egg in the Task today." He dragged his fingers through his unbound hair and felt the color rise to his cheeks when he changed the topic. "I had one more question. How long do you plan on keeping up with the French-only prank?" Luna giggled shortly before covering her mouth. Harry shot her a small smile before continuing. "My dad loves a good joke; he used to be kind of famous here at Hogwarts for his pranks—he was one of a group called the Marauders. I know he _will_ appreciate your joke when he knows it. So . . . when are you going to tell him?"

Hermione smiled a sly smile that Harry found terribly attractive. "Well," she said softly, "I suppose I should tell him over dinner. It would be rude of me to deceive my host, wouldn't it?"

With a wiggle of his eyebrows, Harry agreed. "Just let me know," he asked. "I'll keep it up as long as I can. So will Krum, I'm pretty sure."

Her eyes twinkled as she accepted his hand to assist her balance in standing. " _You're very kind_ ," she said in French.

Luna laughed lightly, and then spoke in French as well—albeit even Harry could hear that her accent was uneven. " _He really is a very kind man_."

Harry blinked and looked hard at Luna. Her hair was braided up on one side, left to hang on the other, while she wore a baby radish from her exposed ear. Her smile, though, held nothing odd for him. She seemed to welcome him, holding his gaze as she came around the end of the Ravenclaw table to join him. "Hi, Luna," he said softly, forgetting that he'd already greeted her. Even forgetting Hermione Granger for a brief span of time.

"Hi, Harry," Luna said after a moment. She cocked her head and lifted both pale brows. "Are we going to join your father?"

Embarrassed, feeling a bit lightheaded for no reason he could discern, Harry felt his cheeks light up. "Er, yeah. Of course. Let's go. Er, Hermione?"

The Beauxbatons Champion had a smile in her eyes, though her expression was composed under the candlelight that shone from the enchanted ceiling. " _Oui, Monsieur Black. Allons-y_."

With a chuckle, Harry offered an arm to both the girls and, uncaring that he'd once again made himself the cynosure of all eyes, he crossed the Great Hall. And there was a slight unbalance that he had to address. If he did indeed call for Neville, there would be five men and only two ladies at the table. And most of the gentlemen had their backs to the wall.

Hermione cleared her throat, shifted a bit and, suddenly, he saw a solution. "Brilliant," he murmured as Hermione smilingly nodded at the space between Sirius and Krum.

"Ah, of course! _Mademoiselle_ Granger, please join me." With a humorous bow, Sirius invited Hermione over to sit on their side of the table, leaving Harry with Luna. This left Lord Krum as the odd man out, but it wasn't quite so bad once Luna had been seated across from Krum. "Harry?" Dad called out softly. "Nev?"

"Right!" Seeing that Luna and Viktor Krum were getting acquainted—which made him twitch a bit as the notion repeated itself in his head—Harry walked briskly to the Gryffindor table. "Oi, Nev!" Seeing the other boy look up, Harry hurried over. "Dad wanted to invite you to join us at the Champions' Table. After all, you're basically family, yeah?"

Neville grinned, pushing back at his overlong fringe. "That's what we tell the _Prophet_." The boys laughed a bit as Neville made his excuses and joined Harry. "So, where's Remus? I didn't see him during the, er, thing."

"When I was getting chased by a dragon? Yeah. Moon," Harry said quietly. "He's actually, er, found a _friend_ recently, so he's not alone. And my dad's staying here tonight, in the Lord's Suite."

"A _friend_?" Neville echoed with a crooked grin. "Well, then. That's something, eh?"

With a nod, Harry agreed it was just as they arrived at the Champions' Table. Luna sort of arched her neck in a graceful way. "Hello, Neville! You and Harry sit on either side of me."

Not at all reluctantly, the boys did so and Harry caught his dad's eye. "Everything all right? You look a bit . . ."

Dad blinked and smiled. "Just thinking about your Uncle Remus."

"He's got company, Dad. Remember?"

" _Monsieur Black?_ " Hermione Granger clearly caught his father's attention. " _I had a question._ "

Sirius nodded and focused on her and it was all Harry could do not to laugh at the way Hermione presented herself. But what her question was would remain a mystery, for Headmaster Dumbledore moved to his Special Event Podium.

"Good evening, and a good evening it has been on this most eventful day. Please extend your kind welcome to our guests, this evening: Lord Grigor Krum and Lord Sirius Black."

* * *

Hermione smiled politely and pretended to have to translate when anyone at their table spoke in English instead of French. It amused her, distracting her from the problem of the screeching egg that she had stolen from the dragon that afternoon. When Headmaster Dumbledore began his speech of the evening, she focused intently on his face, leaning just a little toward the Head Table, knowing that this brought her into just a little tighter proximity with Lord Sirius Black.

She couldn't seem to help herself, and it was all perfectly innocent. Of course.

"And now, tuck in!"

Hermione leaned back and frowned at Harry Black, who was sitting opposite her. "Tuck in?" she inquired lightly with her full French-to-English accent in place.

She watched his gray-green eyes dance in his enjoyment of her continued joke on his father. " _Tuck in_ means to begin eating, _mademoiselle_."

" _Merci_ ," she responded, smiling at him in full coquette mode. There was not, at Beauxbatons, a formal class in social manners, but the professors—male and female—demonstrated them at every opportunity. From the light banter acceptable at meals, to the courtesies extended at informal gatherings and more formal feasts. The behaviors were different than they were in England, Hermione knew from having lived with both, but she found she had been able to wrap either or both around her at will, like a comfortable cloak. A cloak she felt she wished to wear in the company of Lord Black.

He might be twenty years older than she, but in the Wizarding world? Those years were nothing in a life that would span a century or more. And her father was actually _forty_ years older than she was, so _twenty_ years were paltry in comparison. Besides, Lord Black made her stomach flutter in a most intriguing way. And his smile! When it reached his eyes, she smiled as well, utterly without meaning to.

Of course she would flirt with him. Besides, when one sat beside a handsome man at a banquet, flirting was expected, was it not?

At least, she would do so until she informed him that she wasn't actually French.

" _Lord Black_ ," she said at length, after they had conversed pleasantly together and with those around them in both French and English, " _it is very good of you to stay for the banquet._ "

She watched as he translated that, his eyes in that distinctive quadrant of thought, before he answered. " _Not at all, Mademoiselle Granger. It is my honor as Harry's father to be here._ " He raised a water goblet in salute to his son, who was apparently trying to listen to Luna, talk with Viktor, and keep an eye on Hermione herself. " _I understand_ ," Lord Black went on to say, " _that your parents were unable to attend_."

She sighed, for their absence was obvious and rankled, even though she knew it shouldn't. It wasn't their fault. " _Very true. It is hard for the Terrestre to visit an enclave of such magical power as Hogwarts. Indeed, they are unable to visit Beauxbatons as well, though my school does have a reception facility for the Terrestre_."

Her dining companion blinked and squinted, bringing out charming little lines at the corners of his eyes. Hermione bit back a self-conscious smile. She really was acting foolish, but she couldn't seem to help herself. He was a marvelous man for listening, translating, and working so hard to communicate with her. And when he smiled and cocked his head in a manner that came across as self-deprecating, she met his gaze fully. It was as if the entire dining hall went silent for a timeless moment.

He cleared his throat and she dropped her gaze to her own water goblet. " _Er, Terrestre, mademoiselle?_ "

She darted a look across the table before turning a bit to smile at Viktor and their other dining companions. Then, she inhaled quickly and met Lord Black's brilliant eyes once more before speaking in the London accent she had learnt in her earliest years. "Mundane or earthly. Here, the term used is Muggle."

* * *

She's said _Muggle_. In plain English. Upper class _London_ English, at that.

Sirius Black didn't even care that his jaw had dropped. No thought of Karkaroff and his cowardly Death Eater status crossed his mind. He just stared at the young woman, his dinner partner, who was regarding him with dancing brown eyes surrounded by thick, curly, black lashes. "What?" he managed to say through the astonishment that had lodged in his throat.

Harry, the prat, laughed loudly. So did Krum. Merlin, so did the entire table. "Dad," his son said after he caught his breath, "Hermione's English."

Sirius couldn't help himself. He rolled his eyes before angling a brow at _Miss_ Granger. "Well, you could have fooled me. Merlin, you _did_ fool me!" Seeing the laughter lighting her eyes did something to him. He just had to let her know how much he appreciated it. And her. "You could have been a Marauder."

She blinked and glanced across to Harry. "Oh, what you said before, right?"

Sirius stared hard at his son before taking a sip of water. "He told you about the Marauders?" Her eyelids fluttered down and his heart did a strange sort of seizing thing that was disconcerting. He cleared his throat. "I was one, once. Prankster extraordinaire."

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "I want to know, Dad, _before_ you start talking about your glorious youth and all, how Hermione handled the dragon _today_."

Sirius pursed his lips as Hermione Granger sipped at her own water. "She handled it very well indeed," he remarked. "Thought she was going to die, but then, I thought you were as well, Harry."

"Dad, enough. Hermione? How did you do it?"

Viktor Krum leaned over. " _Da_. I vish to know as vell."

Miss Granger sniffed a bit. "Well. I used a fire ward on her."

"A vhat?" Krum asked.

"A runic fire ward. Such as people use when they're doing dangerous spell-crafting."

Luna Lovegood bit her lip and her large blue eyes went watery. "My mum . . . didn't do one of those. She was a spellcrafter and—"

Harry darted Sirius a look. _What do I do?_ the young man demanded with a panicked expression.

Sirius wandlessly levitated Luna's own napkin to his son, who nodded appreciatively before offering it to the sniffling witch. "Ah, Miss Lovegood. Pandora was a brilliant witch. I remember her. She was a couple of years ahead of us in school. Your father, a few more."

Miss Lovegood nodded and leaned into Harry when the young man put his arm around her shaking shoulders. "She was brilliant. But, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to interrupt your narrative. It's the Blibbering Humdingers, you see. They, they can bring up awful memories."

"Like Dementors?" Harry murmured. Sirius couldn't help but see how his son was tightly focused on the blond girl's expression.

"Very like." Then, she blinked a few times, smiled at Harry and then at Sirius himself, and apologized to Miss Granger. "Really, that was unexpected. But the Humdingers are going away now, so I'd like to hear how you knew to prepare a runic fire ward! Are you a Seer?"

Sirius smirked at his son, who blushed before slowly removing his arm from around Miss Lovegood. He reminded himself to tease Harry for being fickle. He'd been all but swooning over Mademoiselle Granger before this feast and pudding hadn't been served and Harry was _already_ making over another girl.

It was very, very amusing, and Sirius was enjoying himself enormously.

Hermione Granger, though, seemed taken aback by Luna Lovegood's query. "A Seer? No." She bit her lips before, in a careful voice, adding, "Divination is for those who are gifted with the Sight. I'm not—I don't have it."

Miss Lovegood nodded amiably. "Oh, that's all right. The Nargles don't speak to everyone. They can, to be honest, be quite troublesome at times." The girl glanced at Harry and sat up a bit. "Truly, I am sorry for interrupting. Harry asked about how you warded the dragon."

Viktor Krum made a beckoning gesture with one scarred hand and Sirius felt his spine go stiff. Why? A sudden, weird protectiveness seemed to stiffen his muscles and he didn't like it. Not at all. He preferred—vastly—the laughter that young Miss Granger had provoked in him.

The young woman flicked her tongue over her lips. "Right, then. Well. When we were told at Beauxbatons that there would be a Triwizard Tournament this year, I of course wanted to see if I could even qualify to compete, so I entered into the trials of Mind, Heart, and Spirit."

"What?" Sirius asked, feeling foolish and glancing at Harry. "Trials? Harry you said you only had the one."

Harry nodded, frowning. "We did."

"Well, we couldn't very well take _all_ our seventh year students, could we, Lord Black?" she asked with a small, somehow knowing smile. "So to determine our dedication, there were trials."

"Ve had trials as vell," Krum stated, rolling his hand impatiently. "So, you passed, of course. Did Beauxbatons provide your body armor? I had not considered such, but should have."

Sirius nodded. That he hadn't for his own son was one of those things that made him feel vastly inadequate as a father. "They did well by you, if so," he remarked.

Miss Granger focused on her water goblet. "I, er, ordered it as soon as I decided to try to compete. I told my parents I'd need it for self-defense and they made sure I could get a suit made for myself. I understand that the dragonhide comes from the Reserve in Romania."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "We know one of the dragon tamers up there. Name of Charlie Weasley. He's a good bloke. Hey, Dad. We should talk to him." Sirius nodded and indicated Miss Granger should continue.

"So, I got that taken care of and passed the trials, and, well." With a shrug, she looked at the other Champions at the table. "I then began researching, of course. There are always three challenges, and they are of three basic types. One is against a magical creature. One is in a non-native environment. One is against multiple obstacles. So, I spent a fortnight working on flying and swimming—to be able to be comfortable in the air or the water. I can't do anything about the obstacles except to know all I can about magical creatures and traps, so I've studied different types. And I researched prior Tournaments to find out about the creatures. Most commonly, the creature introduced has been a dragon, lethifold, or Dementor." Miss Granger paused to sip her water and Sirius could only be silent in the face of her self-composure.

"So, you focused on how to defeat one of those three, then?" Harry inquired, leaning forward over the table.

"Of course."

"And you can cast a Patronus?"

Miss Granger's lips quirked so that a tiny dimple was visible at one corner. "Of course. I confess to being relieved we didn't face a Dementor; my Patronus is not terribly vicious, taken on its own. Otters are clever and and quick, but not intimidating."

Sirius grinned at his son's gobsmacked expression. "If you learnt how to cast a Patronus in basically a fortnight, Miss Granger, I can't see how the ferocity of the Patronus would be anything but equally extraordinary."

His grin didn't lessen a bit when she blushed.

* * *

 _ **A/N: My thanks to all of you who are reading and adding this story to your lists! :) See you next week, in which we see Yule Ball Stylings...**_


	9. Chapter Three: Yule Ball Stylings

_**A/N:** My gratitude to all who are joining me in this AU, with a special Yule beverage-of-choice for all who review! To the Guest who was so kind as to review without a word being written . . . I didn't know what the review said. I only saw boxes, so I didn't let it go through. Please, please use words so I can properly appreciate them and you! And a cup of hot mulled cider to **nostalgiakills** for catching review #300!_

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Yule Ball Stylings**

 ** _3 December 1996, Hogwarts Great Hall_**

Candle shadows danced about the small gathering that met at the end of what was, Hermione knew, the Ravenclaw table in the school's dining hall. The Hogwarts students called it the Great Hall, as it served as a multipurpose room—or so the _Terrestre_ would have it. When she'd been in primary school, they had multipurpose rooms, and she remembered that much, anyway. The brass candelabra that dominated the surface of the table looked far more graceful than Hermione would have expected and she appreciated the several candles it held. Charmed not to drip on the table's surface, the candles released the subtle smell of honey that told her the candles were made of beeswax.

Madame Maxime, Hermione's headmistress, Igor Karkaroff, and Albus Dumbledore had just left them, taking most of the illumination when they had, as if they expected the Champions to just . . . disperse.

But they hadn't.

"So. A Yule Ball?" Viktor Krum began the inevitable discussion. "The Solstice is on tventy-first."

Hermione nodded, as did Harry Black, who darted a quick, eager look in her direction before saying, "And we have to open the ball, they said. So we each have to dance. I imagine we all can do that much?"

Smiling, Hermione assured the others that she could. "Getting partners will be difficult, though."

"Oh?" Black pursed his lips a bit. "Well, er—"

The doors that led to the main body of the castle banged open at that point and two students joined them, their identities clear as they reached the low illumination the Champions shared: Hogwarts Head Boy and Girl, Xavier Summers and Cho Chang. "Good, you haven't left yet," Chang declared, her voice echoing too loudly from the stone walls about them.

Summers, a handsome young man with bright blue eyes and chestnut brown hair, put a hand on his counterpart's shoulder. "Shh. Not so loud, lass," he murmured, his voice rolling with the Scots burr. "We just heard about the ball. Noisy, we are," he added with a crooked grin. "And we wanted to propose a thing."

Chang clasped her hands together in front of her. "Now, the Tournament is supposed to help inter-school relationships and so on, isn't it?"

Harry snorted. "That's what the _Daily Prophet_ said."

Viktor gestured impatiently. "And? Vhat you are proposing?"

"I was, _we_ were, thinking that we should each, as Head Boy and Girl, ask you to the ball ourselves. Not as anything more than escorts, understand. After all, I'm with Cedric Diggory and not likely to change that anytime soon—"

"And I've been betrothed since my fourth year to a pretty witch from India," Summers concluded. "But we'd like to do our bit for international relations, even so." He bowed formally, but still with that lopsided smile that let Hermione know that he didn't take himself too seriously.

Viktor and Harry both turned to look at her, and she found herself blushing as she met two pairs of eyes, one black and one gray-green. A question lurked in each expression that she felt all the way to her chest, giving her a nervous shiver even if it was gratifying. "Hermione?" Harry murmured.

She took a sharp breath, trying to find an answer, when Xavier Summers came to her rescue with a laugh. "Please, _Mademoiselle_ Granger," he said with a thick and very _bad_ French accent, "allow me to accompany you to the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball as your date for the evening." He took her hand and kissed the air over her knuckles in a manner as old as Europe itself. "Unless," he added in his own voice, "some lucky man would call me out if I did so?"

Relief slid through her with a cool rush as she shook her head. " _Merci_ , _Monsieur_ Summers," she replied in her own _impeccable_ French. "I would be honored to contribute to the furthering of international cooperation in this manner. And no, no one is likely to call you out."

"Well, that's handled, then." Harry and Krum exchanged resigned glances and both looked toward the Head Girl. Something sounded off in the Hogwarts Champion's voice when he asked, "Cho? So will Cedric hex me if I ask you?"

Chang winced and bit her lower lip with apparent ferocity. "Well, er, I was going to ask Viktor Krum, Harry. Since he's from a different school and Bulgaria and all. Nothing personal."

Harry blew out a breath and didn't meet anyone's eyes but looked only at one candle's flame for a moment. "Of course. Nothing personal. I imagine I can find a date from another school as well."

Summers laughed lightly. "Black! Just think, anyone you ask from another school will be honored. Frame it like we did here, yeah? Just a bit for international relations. Trust me. Quite a bit less pressure that way."

Harry eyed the Head Boy with a slightly cynical air. "Oh, really?"

Hermione cleared her throat and tried hard not to sound patronizing, for she knew men hated when she did that. "Actually, it really _is_ less pressure, speaking as the invited female in this scenario."

That made both Viktor Krum and Harry Black laugh so she smiled a bit. Krum nodded sharply. "Vell. Miss Chang, if invitation stands?"

"Oh! Of course, yes, Mister Krum. _You_ don't have a girlfriend or fiancée tucked away somewhere, do you?"

Viktor Krum took a moment to translate this, Hermione could see, before he shook his head in a sharp negative. "No. Is good. Thank you, Miss Chang."

"So I've got to find a date, then?" Harry looked at all of them, an expression of wry expectation on his face. "Help a Champion out?"

* * *

 ** _21 December 1996_**

It wasn't the easiest thing to do, separating the Hogwarts Headmaster from the myriad guests that clustered in and near the Great Hall on the night of the Yule Ball. Still, Sirius persevered; he knew the night would be given over to enjoyment overall, but there was something he simply had to know before he could ease his mind.

"Oh, Lord Black." Luna Lovegood approached him, her eyes seeming to reflect the sparkling illusions all around them. "You're here. Good. I needed to talk to you." The girl wore a dress of ocean blue, it seemed to Sirius, that floated about as if she were a frothy nereid of the old legends.

Behind her, to Sirius's deep surprise, was Neville. "Sirius," the young man said, his tone familiar and affable. "Good to see you. I know Harry'll be happy, as well. You remember Luna Lovegood?"

The girl smiled broadly. "Of course he remembers me, Neville. We all had dinner together, didn't we? And I will need to talk to him about that, as well. But not now," she went on blithely, tucking her hand into the crook of Neville's elbow. "Wasn't it kind of Neville to ask me tonight? I wouldn't have been able to come, otherwise, as the Ball is only for the N.E.W.T. level students."

Sirius smiled at her. "Where is Harry?"

"The Champions and their escorts are coming in separately." Neville smiled a little. "Maybe you can find them before they do?"

"You are a brilliant fellow," Sirius said with a slanted smile. "I'll do that. You two have a good evening."

Why was Neville taking Harry's girl to the Ball, was what Sirius wanted to know. Perhaps Harry had asked him to do so; James might have asked Remus to do the same under similar circumstances. Or perhaps Neville and Harry both liked the same girl.

Which could be awkward. He decided not to think on it for the moment, as he caught sight of Albus, talking in close quarters with, alas, Snivellus. Severus. Snape. Him. The git was still on staff as Potions Master, and Sirius had managed to work with him for two years, for which Merlin himself ought to reward him.

"Black," Snape said, having spotted him.

"Snape. Albus," Sirius said as a deliberate bit of insult. "You've been avoiding me since after the First Task. Something you said before was bothering me and I wanted to discuss it with you."

Hogwarts's Headmaster smilingly smoothed his snowy beard. "Of course, my boy, of course." Snape snorted at the appellation, and Sirius was astonished to discover that—for once—he and the git were in perfect accord. He didn't remark upon it so that anyone could hear, however. Albus opened his arms a bit as the sounds coming from the temporary Ballroom grew louder. "And Severus should be here for this as well, for it concerns us all."

Sirius cocked a speculative brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Snape's brows rose likewise. "You cannot be serious." His eyes went wide for an instant before narrowing. "Do _not_ say it, Black. Do. Not."

Unable to help himself, Sirius actually chuckled. "I won't." Sobering, he eyed Albus. "What can we possibly have to discuss amongst the three of us?"

Snape tossed up a silent muffling charm that surrounded them before he echoed Sirius's question.

"It's about the unfortunate events from last summer," the headmaster murmured. "And the sudden increase in known Death Eaters."

Snape stiffened. "I've told you all I know."

"You better have, or I'll see you in a dueling square, Snape," Sirius muttered.

Minerva McGonagall appeared not far away, garbed in deep green robes that matched her hat. She glanced at them but said nothing, preferring to gather the Champions about her. It was then that Harry saw Sirius, his grin lighting up his face and warming his father's heart as he smiled in return.

"Have you noticed anything new, Severus?" Albus inquired, no twinkling eyes or smile in evidence anywhere.

The Potion Master's left hand twitched. "The Mark. It's . . . growing darker. And Igor is wanting a private meeting tonight. I've agreed to speak with him later, in a break from our chaperoning duties."

"That's not good," Sirius remarked, trying to sound casual, though his stomach tightened in worry. "I thought—"

"Not necessarily," Albus snapped, frowning. "There is reason . . . to believe . . . that Tom has not left this plane. Not entirely. And Sirius, I fear for Harry and Neville."

"So you should. The pair of them—"

"Shut it, Snape," Sirius snapped.

The black-eyed man opened his mouth, but was abruptly interrupted. "I do not know what it is that is keeping you, Albus, but we have Champions to introduce!" Minerva's accent was always thicker when she was irritated.

"I want to know more about this, Albus. If I have to take—"

"Now!" Minerva all but shouted.

Snape, with a slash of his wand, canceled his muffling charm as the young people lined up to enter the Great Hall.

 _Nothing's going to happen tonight,_ Sirius told himself. _Harry and Neville are going to dance, I'm going to eat some horrible version of Chicken Kiev a la House-Elf, and no Death Eaters will ruin this. Not a single one._

With firm mental discipline, he tucked his misgivings away, put on a smile, and re-entered the Ballroom. Maybe Moony would have shown up to distract him.

* * *

"And representing Hogwarts, our own Champion, Harry Black and his date, Rosamund Roth from Durmstrang."

Sirius grinned, finally relaxing when he caught his son's eye as Harry and _Fräulein_ Roth entered the Great Hall-cum-Ballroom. Harry—as did Sirius—wore white tie and tails, Wizarding fashion. This included a dramatic black cloak lined with black silk. Sirius nodded at Harry's quick glance towards his date, for Rosamund Roth looked quite elegant in a black silk sheath with surprising crimson accents such as a bow and heels, with a rose in her upswept coiffure.

 _"Dad, it's so odd. I mean, none of us picked someone we liked to go to the ball with, you know? It was like a business arrangement or one of your political maneuvers in the Wizengamot."_

 _"Who would you have asked if you had a choice?" Sirius had wondered, watching his son's face in the communication mirror._

 _Harry's cheeks went pink. "Well, both Krum and I were all set to ask Hermione, but—"_

 _"Not Luna Lovegood?" Sirius had teased._

 _Harry stuttered. "L-Luna?"_

 _"Harry, you_ like _her. Everyone at our table could see that after the First Task."_

 _"Well, no, as we're all taking someone from a different school you see. So, Summers asked Hermione and Cho asked Krum and then Krum introduced me to his friend Rosamund, who is here from Durmstrang."_

 _Harry wasn't frowning, so Sirius tried to look neutral. "And? Is she pretty?"_

 _The young man raked his hand through his hair. "She is! I mean, why Krum isn't dating her I don't know, but she's pretty and doesn't even have much of a German accent to her English. Blond hair and blue eyes—"_

 _"Like Luna," Sirius couldn't help saying._

 _"L-Luna? Er, yes. I guess she rather does look a bit like her. . ."_

Once he'd finished chuckling privately over Harry and his date, Sirius told himself it made sense for him to take a look at the other Champions and their dates, to see if they were all as perfectly attired as the House of Black. Appearances were important. Krum, who was rather acting as if he were Harry's distant big brother, as far as he could tell, was there with Miss Chang, Harry's erstwhile crush. Krum wore a black tuxedo and a rich crimson cape—a cape that other young men were also wearing, that Sirius knew to be a part of the Durmstrang ensemble. Miss Chang wore a very simple gown of deep blue with bronze accents, every inch a pure-blood Ravenclaw witch.

But in the center of the room was the young woman who had been spending far too much time haunting Sirius's thoughts: Hermione Granger. English-born Beauxbatons scholar and Triwizard Champion. Her date, Sirius had been informed, was the Head Boy, who was betrothed to an Indian, pure-blood witch, which Sirius privately applauded. Not because he was a fan of early betrothals, but because he didn't have to call himself all kinds of idiot due to jealousy.

"Padfoot."

Blinking, Sirius tore his eyes from the three couples opening the dancing, executing pattern-perfect waltzes underneath illusionary icicles and falling snow. "Moony, you made it!"

His oldest friend in the world laughed a little breathlessly. "Ran down from Albus's office. Bloody stairs are tricky. So, which one is her?"

" _Fräulein_ Roth?"

Remus Lupin—also bang up to the nines in perfect white tie form—snorted like a teenager. "No, _Mademoiselle_ Granger of Beauxbatons, you prat. The one you've been mooning over like a fifth year. Like James did Lily."

Frowning, Sirius wished he could hide the telltale heat that rose up his throat, but he ignored it instead. "She's a _student_ , Moony. I'm not mooning over a student. Hell, I was a teacher once—"

"So was I, Pads. And though I endeavored to keep my thoughts pristine at all times, I was—and am!—a _man_ and was able to acknowledge, _privately_ , that there were some attractive students in my N.E.W.T. level groups."

Sirius shook his head. "Fine, so there she is, there, with the tall, thin fellow. She's wearing the floral gown." _Floral gown_. Sounded so inane, Sirius thought. The gown Hermione Granger was wearing quite transcended the label of "floral gown". The bodice was black velvet, embroidered in gold thread and had only one short sleeve. Her other shoulder was entirely bare and Sirius didn't _even_ let his gaze linger on it. The full skirt was an antique gold silk with pale roses, barely there, as if remembered from a painting long ago. The effect was that of charm, confidence, and quiet beauty that appealed to him. He was a Black. He hated what his House had stood for for decades, but he appreciated firm foundations and stability. And he did enjoy an elegant woman. . .

"You always did have a taste for the exotic," Remus remarked quietly. "She's quite pretty, Pads."

"She's beautiful, you git."

Remus laughed. "Granted, though I confess to being more intrigued by her dance partner."

"Ah, paws off there, Moony. He's betrothed. And straight, so I hear. Besides, weren't you with someone last moon? I thought that was going well?"

"Too soon to tell yet. So, are we going to mingle, Lord Black?"

* * *

Dinner had featured entrées from the menus of each of the schools represented in the Tournament, and Hermione had decided to try the roast lamb that was accented by a miniature, animated Bulgarian flag on the menu. From France, the entrée offered was grilled salmon with black beans. And Scotland did not—mercifully—proffer _haggis_. Instead, there was the very homey cock-a-leekie soup with a chicken puff pastry.

The other Champions and their dates had also chosen food from countries other than their native one, in a show of international cooperation. "The lamb is wonderful," she told Viktor Krum, who sat to her left.

"So is the soup."

Xavier, Hermione's escort, lifted his fork. "I confess I might wish to move to France for more of this salmon."

"What about Akuti?"

Xavier laughed as he put his fork down and took up a water goblet. "Akuti wants out of India in the worst way. We've been corresponding for years, you understand, and she's spent time with my family in England as I've done in India." He grinned. "Don't you like France, _Mademoiselle_?"

"You know quite well I was born in England." She smiled at him. "Still, I don't mind saying that I find French cuisine superior."

The table fell silent for a while as they all enjoyed their dinners. Hermione took the quiet moments to study the others in the Great Hall. After all, this could have been her school. She could have, perhaps, been Head Girl as Cho Chang was this year. Maybe she and Harry Black would have been friends instead of competitors. She would know his friends Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood intimately, perhaps spending holidays with them.

She might even have spent holidays with Harry, come to that. And his father. Lord Sirius Black.

She knew right where he was in the ballroom. There, at the table as far away from the head table as he could be, he sat next to another man in formal attire. "Who's that sitting with Lord Black?" she inquired softly of Xavier Summers. She didn't stare, but rather kept her focus on her dinner partner so as not to garner suspicion from any quarter. It wouldn't do to have anyone thinking she was setting her cap at a British Aristocrat.

Xavier wiped his lips with his cloth napkin. "Ah. That's Remus Lupin. He used to be a professor here, but then he went to write some books on werewolves."

Hermione felt a pleased little flutter in her chest. "Oh, yes. He promotes werewolf equality and education!" She blushed a bit when Xavier chuckled. "Well, the rights of all magical creatures have always been a pet of mine, you see. I've been reading _All Four Forevermore_ , about the cultural anthropology of the centaur as well." At Xavier's polite, inquiring sound, she was about to expound on one of her favorite topics but then a surprising thing happened.

Lord Sirius Black turned his sharp gray eyes in her direction and smiled.

* * *

The Weird Sisters, an internationally famous band comprised almost entirely of _men_ , were playing an updated cover of the Wizarding classic, _Magic Is All We Need,_ when Sirius Black bowed first to Hermione and then to Xavier. Hermione blew out a quiet breath, hoping to calm down as Lord Black asked, "Mister Summers, may I cut in?"

She was handed off in a most elegant, detached manner. Lord Black's focus darted about the room before coming to rest fully on her face as he slid one hand down her bare arm until he encompassed her hand whilst she slid her free one up to his shoulder. " _Mademoiselle_ Granger," he murmured for no apparent reason.

"Lord Black. I was surprised to see you here this evening."

He smiled into her eyes and she felt her heart give a bit of a flutter. "I'm on the Board of Directors for the school, _mademoiselle_. A perk of this is an invitation to all the events at which I might meet attractive women."

She felt the color rise her throat to spread up her jaw and down toward her breasts and was vastly relieved when Lord Black's eyes didn't follow it. "I imagine your presence is always welcome, as you're quite an elegant dancer."

He grimaced, unexpectedly. "Part of the life of a pure-blood in Britain, Miss Granger. Dancing lessons."

"And French as well? Your accent is impeccable."

"So is yours," he said with an odd intensity. "Are you sure you're English?"

She laughed lightly. "Because of course I haven't heard _that_ before. Yes, my lord. I am." He pulled her slightly closer to himself as they made a turn through a more populous portion of the dance floor, before bringing them almost to the edge of it, near the windows. "Very smooth," she murmured.

He dipped her then, a laugh igniting in his eyes. "I try." He then righted her and they continued in the gentle, rhythmic sway of the dance. It was of a style that promoted conversation whilst moving everyone around in a colorful manner. No one was too intimately pressed to anyone else; everyone was encouraged to interact socially.

Hermione sought for a new topic of conversation and remembered something her mum had told her a couple of years ago. _"Men like to talk about themselves," she'd said. "Don't talk politics or religion—"_

 _"Mum, there's not a lot of religious talk in the Wizarding world," Hermione had interrupted._

 _To which her mother had just rolled her eyes. "All to the good, then. So talk about his employment. What does he do? Unless he's in politics!"_

So Hermione put an engaging smile on her face. "So, aside from being on the Board of Directors, how else do you spend your time, Lord Black?"

He paused for the barest second in the precise movements of their dance before offering her a wry smile. "Why does that sound like something from Bathilda Bagshot's _Rules for Pure-blood Comportment_?"

She blinked with overplayed innocence, because she just felt she had to. There was something so beguiling, so engaging about Lord Sirius Orion Black. Something that reached in and tugged at her, provoking smiles and wit and the wish to make him laugh in turn. "Because I've studied all the rules for pure-blood comportment when I knew I'd be encountering them at this Tournament?"

"Was there anything you didn't study, Miss Granger?"

"Only what you might be doing when you're not here," she said, getting back to the topic at hand.

He grinned and dipped his head toward her. His face came so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could smell whatever it was he used for cleansing or shaving, could feel his breath in his chuckle. All other sounds and sensations slipped from her awareness; it was enough to be aware of him.

Hermione held her breath in shock; she was in serious trouble.

Or would that be _Sirius trouble_?

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry/not sorry. I couldn't stay away from the pun! Next time, I inflict upon you some terrible verse._


	10. Chapter Four:Discomfort Before Assurance

_**A/N:** I would be remiss if I didn't tip my hat to my good friend **Katmom** for her support and willingness to read my extremely horrid verse. In truth, when I write poetry, it tends to come out as Edgar Allan Poe meets Dr. Seuss. I don't think this one was too bad. I hope. Thank you all for the "I like the pun" comments from last chapter. Guess what? It's here AGAIN. Because I have no self-control. Thanks, too, for all the adds to lists and the delightful notes you're leaving me. They make me goofy. Special curtsy today to **ZeMeliaTinaKiNifro** for catching review #400. Thank you!_

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Discomfort Before Assurance**

 ** _21 December 1996, Yule Ball_**

He was in _serious_ trouble.

Or would that be Sirius trouble?

Harry would be laughing—since he had indeed apparently got over his _tendre_ for the pretty and magically adept Hermione Granger. Remus—Sirius could see Remus at the wall nearest the far window, nursing a glass of punch and talking with Bill Weasley—would smile with that crooked smile, a light in his eye that was three parts humor, one part regret.

He couldn't help that; wouldn't.

"Was the question that intense, Lord Black?"

He blinked and met Hermione Granger's firewhisky gaze. "Pardon?"

Her smile was warm but not remotely playful. "You looked as if something had suddenly troubled you. Did you need to attend to something?" Then, her lip quirked with evident humor. "Something Board of Directorish?"

Realizing they were essentially standing still in the middle of a ball, Sirius executed a classic change of direction move from a foxtrot—for he knew all the internationally recognized formal dances—in order to redirect both of them. "What I might be doing when I'm not here, right." Endeavoring to smirk at her surprised expression—he'd caught her off-step and he didn't regret that at all as she leaned a bit into him for a moment longer than was perhaps needed—he nodded. "Well, I used to be a professor, and before that, I was an Auror for a short time."

"I read that you were a veritable pillar of Wizarding Britain," she remarked with an arch tilt of her head. "Having adopted your best friends' son and given basically your whole life over to, well, the service of practically everyone else." Her tone was light, but there was something in her eyes, when he met them, that touched him again.

The music was winding down, and he was going to have to relinquish her to her partner, which was perhaps a good thing. _She's a student, Padfoot. Don't act like a fool._ "Lies, all lies. And, it looks like the Weird Sisters are taking a break, Miss Granger—"

"Hermione?" she asked quietly as the musicians played a final bar. "Or would that be dreadfully common?"

"Not common at all, but—"

She nodded politely. "But perhaps not appropriate or desired. That's fine. I shouldn't have presumed, Lord Black. Thank you for the dance." With the dip of a curtsy that may or may not have been ironic, the young woman turned and actually flounced away as Myron Wagtail—the lead singer for the band—directed everyone's attention to a local Wizarding Wireless host who would play for them.

A familiar scent approached on his left as Sirius stood, gape-faced, staring after the brilliant witch who'd apparently misinterpreted him utterly.

Which might be for the good.

Or it might be terrible.

"Looks like you've got a serious problem, Pads," Remus murmured. "Which is too bad, since she's a fine dancer and you looked, well, quite compatible." He sniffed the air a little and added, "Clearly you think so. I would venture to say she does as well. So when do I meet her?" Sirius just side-eyed him with his very best glare. Remus only grinned, rolling back on his heels and pulling a little at his collar. "Made a hash of it, did you?"

"I must have. Hell, Moony, I haven't tried to chat up a girl in a long time."

"They usually chat you up, I know. Looked like _she_ was trying to, anyway. Don't like _des oiseaux_ of all a sudden?" Sirius snorted and Remus settled a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?" he inquired with apparent sincerity.

Sirius almost tugged at his hair but refrained; he could even now see Snape shift a glance in his direction and then there was Igor Karkaroff looking as if he'd leave the ball entirely and Sirius didn't want to come across as anything other than in control of himself when under such eyes. "I don't know, exactly. We were discussing what I did when I wasn't here, and she asked if I'd call her by her given name."

"And?" Remus prodded when Sirius wasn't inclined to continue.

He let his gaze drift over the couples who roamed to the punch tables for refreshment. Harry and Krum were dancing attendance on their dates for the evening, bringing back glasses of something golden with popping bubbles. Harry glanced at him, then at Hermione Granger, then back at him and Sirius couldn't even muster a shrug.

"And . . . I don't know, Moony. She's . . . young. I am old enough to be her father."

With a chuckle, Remus nudged him just a bit. "She didn't seem to care, Sirius. She is a student, but she won't be one forever, correct? I had heard that Beauxbatons, in keeping with the need to have completed what we'd consider the O.W.L. exams, only brought their seventh year students. So Miss Granger will no longer _be_ a student in perhaps half a year. Pads. Tell me you didn't spout this to her?"

Irritated, Sirius pulled sharply at the hem of his waistcoat as Mister Head Boy led Miss Beauxbatons Champion out on the floor again. "No. I merely said that her asking me to do so was not common at all, but she, well, she took offense, I think, and—" With a quick lift of his chin, he wordlessly reminded himself of her abrupt departure.

"Ah. Well. You can fix this if you want to. But only if you want to, Pads. It could be that the clever and quite lovely _mademoiselle_ is not the lady for you, but is only here to remind you that you could use some company."

"What I could use is a drink," Sirius retorted. "Now."

The men edged to the perimeter of the room, to take up likely chaperone positions near a pine tree that seemed to actually be alive. "Full marks to Pomona," Remus remarked, brushing a twig of pine needles with one forefinger. "These look to be in perfect health."

"I understand our Neville is partially responsible for that; he's been helping Pomona. I think he'd make a fine professor himself at some point."

"Trying to get him away from Luna Lovegood?" Remus inquired with a curl to his voice as he slid a flask from the interior pocket of his formal robes. "I didn't know you appreciated that particular shade of blond, Pads. I rather thought you were interested in brunettes of late."

"Shut it, you," Sirius grumbled before he sipped at the good Muggle bourbon. "Hm. Oak in this one, yeah?"

"Jim Beam," Remus said with a quick grin before palming the flask and tucking it away once again. "So? Do you want to fix this or not?"

"Because you're the resident expert?"

Remus moved to stand directly in front of Sirius in a manner the latter knew all too well. "Look. I am good at relationships, I'll have you know. There's a reason we were together so long."

"Harry."

"No, Pads. I communicated with you and you communicated with Harry." They shared a smile, rich with memories that even their split couldn't sour. "So I know what I'm talking about. You could ask her to dance again."

* * *

Harry brought his escort-slash-date back to the head table after they'd had an energetic session on the floor. He knew how to dance all the classic bits; Dadfoot had made sure he had a proper education, after all. But he was not as confident of his ability not to look like an idiot whilst "just dancing" like, well, a teenager. The Wireless music director was smiling as if he were performing all the songs himself and his commentary was starting to get on Harry's nerves, which did not help his feeling about dancing in public.

"You're really quite patient," he said with a smile to Rosamund as they sat and nibbled a bit at some biscuits. "Thank you again for agreeing to come with me."

She smiled, but her focus was not on him; she was watching Viktor and Cho, who were still on the floor. "The honor of course is mine. Supporting International Relations, supporting my school."

"Supporting Viktor Krum?" Harry guessed with a smile.

The blond girl blushed with a rosy hue. "He is long my friend, of course."

"Of course," Harry agreed, reaching for a goblet of water. "You should ask him to dance again when he is done, there."

"As you should ask the girl who looks like the sea." Rosamund said with a nod toward Neville and Luna, who were walking away from one of the punch tables. "Often she smiles in your direction."

Accordingly, when the Weird Sisters returned for their final set of the night, Harry crossed the room to where Nev and Luna were chatting. He hesitated briefly, for Neville looked to be having a very good time and he didn't want to insert himself and ruin his godbrother's chances. Harry did like Luna—as his dad had sussed out—but Neville was practically his brother and deserved to be happy. "Neville. Luna." He dredged up a smile and planted his hands on the table in an effort to be casual. Behind him, Kirley Duke strummed an opening chord on his guitar. "Enjoying the evening?"

Neville nodded slowly. "I am. And Gran, of course, will be relieved to know I haven't yet stepped on Luna's toes."

"He's an excellent dancer, Harry," Luna assured him. "Are you having a good evening? Miss Roth is quite graceful."

And then, Harry caught it. Like a Snitch, there was a flash in Luna's eyes and he obeyed his instinct to chase it. "She is and I have good information that she is going to share that grace—she hasn't stepped on my toes, either—with Viktor shortly." Luna smiled broadly so Harry asked, "Would you dance with me?" Neville snorted and Harry stood away from the table. "If that's all right, Nev?"

"Sure! I'll ask the frankly scary, but pretty, Hermione Granger."

Harry laughed, remembering conversations he and Neville had had since the other schools had joined them at the end of October. Neville was more of a quiet sort in terms of girls, but he had been watching one or two. Hermione had not been one of them, though, as Neville had been a bit intimidated by the older girl. Harry had been enthralled by her hair . . .

But not any longer, apparently.

He led Luna into the dance, his arm politely behind her and holding her right hand in his left. "Your dress is like the sea," he told her, remembering Rosamund's words. His throat seemed to thicken but he remembered he'd faced down a dragon, dammit, and he wasn't going to lose his nerve now. "You look very pretty."

Her smile was sunny, like springtime. "Thank you, Harry. You look very pretty, too. I mean handsome, of course," she added with wide eyes when he sputtered. "But then, I also like how you look in your Quidditch robes. And I wonder what you'll have to wear for the Second Task, because I can imagine all sorts of things. Do you think it'll be your Quidditch robes? There is that mention of a creature, though, so . . . Hmmm." She pursed her lips and squinted a little, clearly deep in thought.

He turned with her in his arms and continued to dance, looking anywhere but at her because all of a sudden, he wanted—

Well. He had a job to do and it wouldn't be appropriate to hare off to kiss Luna when he'd brought Rosamund to the Yule Ball, would it?

"Sirius isn't dancing," he remarked just to have something to say.

Luna leaned into him until he turned and he had to admire her strategy. His brain practically buzzed as he _felt_ her . . . _wow_. Did witches not wear, well, he _thought_ they did, didn't they? His face went all hot but Luna, thankfully, didn't notice his preoccupation with how she felt. Did she have a bra on underneath that blue frothy stuff she was wearing?

"He's lonely, your dad is. I should talk to him. I could help."

He coughed. "Pardon? Help my dad?"

She grinned up into his eyes and he swallowed. Hard. "Yes. I should dance with him and tell him. Do you think he'd dance with me if I asked him, Harry?"

"I don't think there's a man here that would say no to you," he said without thinking. Then, he blushed again. "Er, I mean, you know, no. He'd dance with you."

Her cheeks were also pink, but Luna would always rise above her own discomfort, he felt. "So . . . does that include you?" He opened his mouth, closed it, and didn't know what to say. She laughed softly. "Thank you."

* * *

"I'm guessing we'll be in the air," Hermione said, her arms at their proper position whilst Harry led her without any apparent effort through yet another waltz. "For the Second Task," she clarified when he lifted a brow at her. The night was almost over and she had the feeling that this was the final dance of the evening before someone left a random wireless to its own devices and let the truly dedicated dance on their own.

She would not be amongst them. Madame Maxime was already edging toward the exit, being pursued by a half-giant with an abundant beard. The Head Boy and Head Girl were dancing the final dance together in a show of what Hermione was imagining was solidarity, so the Champions were all set to do likewise.

Harry asked her before Viktor could, and Hermione was all right with that; she felt rather bad for having abandoned Sirius Black on the dance floor. It had not been well done of her, but she'd . . . wanted to keep her dignity for the moment after he'd rejected her offer of a more casual interaction.

"Yeah," Harry said as they danced. "The Mermish was just the worst, though."

"I know!" Hermione met his gaze. "My first instinct was to throw the egg out into the lake you have here—"

"Which was likely when you thought of how to hear something other than screeching?" Harry asked with a grin.

"You're a remarkably fine dancer," she said, apropos of nothing. "And yes," she went on when he thanked her, "that's when I thought should find someone who could help me with the language I heard afterward. Thank Circe for warming charms."

"So you don't speak Mermish yourself?"

She shook her head and followed as he directed them in a slightly different turn across the dance floor. The candles were growing dim, and she understood they were just about done for the night. "I don't, no, but one of my classmates actually has studied it and she helped me translate. You?"

"I had help as well. Say, this is a change of topic, but I wanted to invite you to our London house for New Year's Eve, if you don't have other plans. I'm inviting Viktor as well. We usually have a party and I wanted to include you."

Surprised, she blinked and nodded. "Thank you. I'd like that. My parents always host a party but I'd very much enjoy attending yours instead. Less talk of politics, you know?"

He chuckled. "Thank you. I'll owl you, then. You'll be with your parents?"

"Yes. Lancaster Gardens?"

"Right. Not far at all, really. Excellent. And you Apparate?"

"Of course. You?"

He frowned and she had to laugh a little. "Not yet. I don't turn seventeen until July, you see."

"Ah. And they didn't allow you to get your license when you were selected as Champion?" That seemed foolish. "That's quite limiting, you know."

"I know!" he declared, clearly exasperated on that score. "All right, then. I'll owl you."

The music ended, Headmaster Dumbledore said some parting words, and Hermione made her way toward Madame Maxime, who beckoned tiredly. Harry was moving to collect Luna from his father and Rosamund was on Viktor's arm with a smile on her face. Hermione felt oddly comfortable with all of that, but her mind was largely occupied with the clue in the egg since she and Harry had been speaking of it.

 ** _No interpreters have the Pixies blue,_**

 ** _So they asked us to share the clue._**

 ** _In the air you'll have to go,_**

 ** _Where all of their kind learn and grow._**

 ** _They'll guard a token just for you;_**

 ** _It might be this task you'll rue._**

 ** _Find the creature who will take you there_**

 ** _To the Pixie ring over the Forest Fair._**

 ** _You must be daring, you must be fast._**

 ** _For the Pixie ring, it will not last._**

When she'd heard the translation of the riddle, and found that Mermish was being used for a clue for something in the other non-native environment she'd prepared for, she'd had to start rethinking her approach. _A creature to take you to the air?_ Well, a change of strategy would be required. She could be flexible.

"Miss Granger."

It was _him_ , and he might have called her name more than once. She had an instinctive wish to avoid him due to her earlier embarrassment. However, she had accepted an invitation to his London home for New Year's Eve. He would also be at the other two Tasks. And . . . and he had a voice that just settled in her ear like warm velvet and eyes that captured hers every single time she looked into them.

She held up a hand. "Lord Black. Madame Maxime is waiting."

He actually approached her, took her hand, and bent over it in a very old-world manner. "I know." Offering her his arm, he nodded when she took it—for of course she did. What was he doing? He didn't even want to call her by her given name, earlier. " _Madame Maxime_ ," he said in smooth French as they approached Beauxbatons' headmistress. " _May I escort Mademoiselle Granger to your carriage this evening?_ "

Hermione had to smirk at Madame Maxime's displayed surprise. " _Oui, but no delays._ " After a significant partial glare directed at Hermione, the headmistress gathered the four remaining Beauxbatons students and shepherded them out of the castle.

" _Merci_ ," Lord Black murmured, turning to indicate something to his friend who wrote the werewolf books. "And Miss Granger, thank you as well." He began walking and, such was his utter confidence in his path, she paid no heed to the darkening castle and contented herself with his guidance as they walked. "Do you have a cape?"

She scrunched up her nose in discomfort. "Er, no. Xavier Summers, my escort, lent me his when he collected me at the carriage." She felt foolish with her admission, and her spine stiffened in response.

Sirius Black cleared his throat in a dramatic fashion. "Allow me, then, _mademoiselle_ , to cast a warming charm." He then led her through a narrow passage lit only by a whispered charm to his wand. "I'd hate to cover up your pretty shoulder," he said to the darkness in front of them.

She stumbled a bit at the compliment. "Pardon?"

"You look lovely, Miss Granger, and I didn't want to cover the view." They reached a small door with heavy iron bracings and he turned to smile at her. Against her better judgment, she felt her insides begin to liquefy. "So, may I cast the charm? I'd never want to charm a woman without her entire consent," he added, a light in his eye.

"Of, of course, Lord Black."

He waved his wand, casting silently. "Sirius."

"Of course I'm serious, I'd appreciate the charm," she answered, peering closely at him; perhaps he'd had something _extra_ to drink that evening?

He laughed a little, a low sound that beckoned to her as he led her out of doors. "No, my name. Sirius. May I still call you Hermione?"

Heat flowed over her skin, and she wasn't sure if it was her pleasure or the charm he'd cast or both. "Of course. Sirius." Then, she thought of something and linked her arm in his offered one. "So, I've read that your given name is Sirius Orion Black. What _were_ your parents thinking?"

"I've asked myself that many times," he confessed, laughter lacing his words. And, as the snow fell around them with a gentle hiss, he continued. "What I'd like to know, though, is if you were free for New Year's Eve."

Clearing her throat, she brushed a bit of snow from his cape. "Er, no, as a matter of fact I'm not." His arm hardened uncomfortably under her hand and she decided not to tease him further; there wasn't time to fix it if it went awry. "I've been invited to the home of Lord Black and his heir apparent for a party."

When the muscles of his forearm relaxed, she smiled. So did he, as he glanced down at her. "Well then, that makes it a bit easier, doesn't it? Harry, I take it?"

"Indeed. He's invited Viktor Krum as well. Your son's a fine man, Sirius Black. Also an excellent dancer."

"But did he tell you he's also a champion snake killer?"

Sirius Black told her one or two amusing stories from Harry's earlier years as they walked very slowly to the Beauxbatons carriage. When they arrived, a light shone in three small windows and Hermione could tell that Madame Maxime's shadow was indeed prominently on display.

"Thank you for your escort, Lord Black," she said formally, dipping in a real curtsy.

He sighed and took her hand in his. "Thank you for speaking to me. I was a git, earlier."

"Not at all."

"No, I have it on good authority that I was. I look forward to seeing you on New Year's Eve, Hermione. Good night." Then he slowly turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

She actually trembled, but somehow managed to murmur, "Good night."

Lord Black—Sirius—waited until she'd entered the carriage and shut the door behind her before he walked away.

" _So?_ " Madame Maxime inquired, already comfortably attired in a dressing gown. " _Is all well, Hermione?_ "

" _Yes, Madame. It seems I'm invited to the Blacks' New Year's Eve party. I said I'd go._ "

" _Just remember to keep your wits about you, my dear._ "

" _Of course._ "

Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought she could hear the headmistress humming one of the waltzes under her breath as Hermione prepared for bed. _Maybe Madame has a date for New Year's Eve as well._

* * *

 _ **des oiseaux** \- "birds" in French So, er, French birds, according to Google. As in "You don't like French birds anymore?" **Remus was making a joke**. No, really._


	11. Chapter Five: New Year's Eve, Part One

_A/N: Y'all continue to blow me away with your response to this AU. :) And a hearty welcome to all new readers! Lovely to see you._

 _To the **Guest** with the French - I left "some French birds" the way it was because, as you said, Remus's French is not good and getting the articles right isn't always something that's going to happen, even with more familiarity with a language. I do thank you, however. If you'd PM me, I could use a French eye on a future line or two from someone. Otherwise Google Translate will continue to suffice. _

* * *

**Chapter Five: New Year's Eve, Part One**

 ** _31 December 1996, Lancaster Gardens_**

"But Hermione, dear, really. They're all expecting to see you!" Doctor Emma Granger pouted at her reflection in her mirror in order to check the line of her lip. Then, she applied a fixative to the color and Hermione marveled a bit to see it. She didn't pay much heed to _Terrestre_ forms of cosmetics, as everything she'd been shown in France was magical. "And you had mentioned being interested in the practice as well—"

Hermione sighed and sank down on the chaise lounge in her mother's bedroom. "No, Mum. _You_ mentioned it and I know you've been quite diligently concerned with my post-Beauxbatons education. But I am likely going to study for Masteries in magical areas, you know. And seek to do some good, somewhere. Perhaps in Paris," she added. Her parents had never been all that concerned with her proximity, leaving her to the care of the au pair and then allowing her to go to school on the continent. In the past couple of years, especially, there had been an increase in distance between them. This did not, to her dismay, always sadden her. Just sometimes. Like at the Tournament, when they might have been proud of her performance.

Her mother turned on her vanity stool; it was upholstered with a rose-hued fabric but had no back to speak of. Her vanity table was done in a black lacquer and there was a brightly lit mirror to show her all her beauties and flaws. Hermione had never liked the vanity table.

"You can do plenty of good as an oral surgeon, Hermione. Or perhaps law. You could even stand for Parliament! I've got our MP, Larissa Jackson-Thorne, on our guest list this evening. I'm sure she would love to meet you."

"Impressive, Mum, but no. I've already accepted the invitation to Lord Black's party and it would be quite rude to turn him down."

"A lord, you say? In your magical world?"

"Yes, Mum." She rose and played gently with the golden chain she wore at her throat. "I am so sorry you were unable to meet him at the Tournament."

Her mother turned back to her mirror, nonverbally dismissing her. "Well, it's a different world, dear. We knew that years ago. Will you need taxi fare?"

"No, I'll manage. Thank you."

On her way to her own suite of rooms on the floor above, she nearly collided with her father, who had had an emergency at his surgery and was hurrying home to change for the party. He came charging up the stairs like boys heading to dinner. "Hermione! Oh, hello, princess. Lovely to see you. Ready for this evening?" He looked beyond her, a bit out of breath and undoing his tie as he spoke. His hair was thick and dark blond, shot through with gray. Her mother's, in contrast, was kept a rich brown through whatever means they used at the salon. Hermione's hair was most like her mother's. But her father was more like her in personality. "I heard mother got the MP to drop by later, you know."

"She told me, Dad. I won't be here, though. I've got an invitation to another party from Lord Black. He's up in Kensington, you know."

Her father frowned thoughtfully. "Well, you'll be careful, right? You have a ride? I don't want you driving tonight; not with it being New Year's Eve."

She smiled and moved to reach the stairs, sliding her hand over her father's shoulder as she did so. "I'll be fine, Dad. I'm Apparating. Teleporting, remember? I showed you over the summer?"

Her father's light blue eyes went wide. "Oh, quite. Indeed. Yes. Well, then. You should be safe enough, yes? Can you, er, teleport right back to your room, then? Or should we leave the kitchen door open?"

Hermione leaned against the wall at the foot of the stairs. "I think leave the door open for me? If you would? Just to be safe."

"Certainly." Her father crossed the landing to her and dropped a kiss to her head. "Have a good time in Kensington, princess. See you next year."

She groaned at his bad joke and hurried up the stairs. She had a little black dress to transfigure. It would certainly be simpler to do than other things she was practicing her transfiguration skills on.

* * *

 ** _Kensington_**

"You're joking, right? Please tell me you're drunk or under the Imperius, Sirius." Remus rubbed his hands over his head and fell back more deeply into the leather club chair in the lounge on the lower level of the Black townhouse.

Sirius blew out a breath and nudged a stack of old, leather-bound books on the low table in front of the sofa. With the toe of his shoe. He was not going to touch such books without a ward if he could help it. "Not joking, no. Wish I were, really. Albus got me thinking and I went back _there_ and ransacked the library."

Remus went a bit pale. "There? You did? I was never so glad as when we shut that door behind us, Pads."

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Merlin. Hate that address."

"Why'd you go _there_?" Remus looked around, found his firewhisky, and took a fortifying sip. The lounge in the "new" house was so much superior, filled with light and classic furniture that was both modern but also felt sturdy with tradition. Nothing in the room even hinted at dark magic, save for those books in front of him.

Sirius cleared his throat and sat up stiffly from the sofa cushions before saying, "One ought never to turn one's back on a threatened danger and try to run away from it. If you do that, you will double the danger. But if you meet it promptly and without flinching, you will reduce the danger by half."

"Who said that, one of the Peverells? Bathilda Bagshot?"

"Winston Churchill."

"Blimey, Sirius. You _were_ reaching, weren't you. This is serious. No," he went on with a slanted smile. "Don't say it. So, is Kreacher still there?"

Sirius made a rude sound, not even caring that Remus found it amusing. If anything could be smile-worthy in this whole business, that was. "He is. I'm not sure what kind of relationship he and my mother had, but it couldn't have been healthy." With a sincere shudder, he grimaced and sipped at his own firewhisky. "Merlin. The way they were carrying on whilst I was there was just . . . it would explain a lot. I think Kreacher decided my mother was his _mate_ or something." Remus started and Sirius met his look without flinching. "I _know_. Anyway. As Churchill said, one should meet a threatened danger head on. I got bloody tired of waiting for Albus Bleeding Dumbledore to tell me what he was thinking, when it was _my son_ who was orphaned due to the war, so I went looking for a few things, based on what he said. But I don't know what to make of what I've got here, and I could use your help."

"So . . . what is it that he said?" Remus asked, setting down his drink on the end table and kneeling to peer at the spines of the books on the table. "These titles are . . . frightening, Sirius. Godelot wrote two of them! His work is in the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts Library."

With a snort Sirius nodded. "Only you would know that. So, yes. _Magick Moste Evil_ is one of his more tame works, really. And that's where I started."

Blowing out a breath, Remus carefully spread the books out so he could study them with a minimal need to touch them. "So, what did Dumbledore tell you?" he asked as he returned to his chair.

"Remember Quirrell and the whole Philosopher's Stone thing that happened a few years ago?"

"Of course. Took years off of me, Sirius. Our Harry having to actually come near that, that _thing_."

"Right. Well. Albus also mentioned the diary. The one that the Weasley girl tossed away from her and such. There was all the trouble with the petrified Muggleborns, remember?"

"Not something I'm likely to forget, no. The blood on the walls? And they figured that Ginevra was, what, possessed? Is that what the Mind Healer concluded?"

"Yeah. Never told Harry or Neville that, though. Didn't want to worry them. She's still seeing the Mind Healer. I get reports." Sirius felt that paying for it was the right thing to do, as the Weasleys were distant relations. He never felt the need to mention it. He just leaned back and crossed his legs. "So, I got to thinking. How does a man possess another person when that man was killed years ago?" The pain of James and Lily's deaths would never truly leave him entirely, Sirius knew. But he felt he was doing his level best with the charge they had given him. When he met them again on the other side, he'd be able to look them in the eyes. That was one of the main goals of his life.

Remus pushed himself to his feet and began to pace, using his hands to punctuate his words as he thought out loud. "Judging by those books, I guess you're looking at a way to store, what, a soul? A spirit? The essence of someone?"

Sirius silently Summoned _Magick Moste Evil_ from the table. "This book mentions something called a horcrux, Moony. Ever hear of one of those?"

His best friend halted in mid-stride, fingers splayed as they'd been a moment before. "What?" he asked on a rasp. "A horcrux? Sirius. No."

Swallowing a hard knot of fear down, Sirius nodded slowly. "Yes. So. We need to figure out what these are, exactly, and handle them before You-Know-Who figures out how to get a body of his own and quit borrowing little girls'."

"Dad? Remus?" Harry's voice preceded him, echoing in the hall outside of the room.

Sirius and Remus both tried to deal with the books before them in such a way as to hide them from Harry; Sirius tried to Banish them under the sofa and Remus endeavored to Disillusion them. Both were successful and both were left to wonder if they'd remember there were Dark books hiding in the room. "In here, Harry," Sirius called after a moment.

His son opened the paneled door, eyes wide and questioning. "It _is_ New Year's Eve, right?" Panic entered his tone as he tugged at his untucked black shirt. "Did I get the wrong day? You know, on vacation, I can't keep track of the dates as well."

And there in the midst of a room filled with Dark Magic texts, fear, and grief, Sirius felt himself smile. He stood and crossed the room to wrap one arm around his son and pull him close for a moment. "Thank you, Harry. I needed that. And yes, it's New Year's Eve and yes, I need to dress for this party." Moving away, he eyed Remus. "So do you. What were you looking for me for, son?"

He unbuttoned the top button. "Do I have to wear a tie?"

Even Remus started laughing at that and Sirius was grateful that he had a son. "You're such a teenager!"

"Yeah, and? Do I?"

"No."

* * *

"Luna and her father are here, Dad!" Harry shook Xenophilius's hand and helped to brush the soot from Luna's party dress. He might have taken longer than he needed to, but she didn't seem to mind and her father didn't appear to have noticed. There was no one else in the reception room, and even the portraits were motionless as the Lovegoods stepped on the black marble tile of the hearth-slash-landing in front of the fireplace. Here, there was plenty of light from lamps and candles, since no one wanted to have lingering soot on their clothing before mingling with other guests.

Dadfoot entered through the double doors in a big way, as he tended to do when hosting a party or event. He walked into the Wizengamot the same manner, shoulders back as if he were set to conquer the room. Harry never even tried to imitate him; he would have looked ridiculous.

"Xenophilius. Luna. Welcome." Harry watched his dad do the polite stuff; he knew he'd have to be able to do it himself, one day. Someday, Harry knew he would be a Lord and have responsibilities and so on. There was a darkness hanging about Sirius lately that made Harry think about such things, well, more seriously. "Come in to the party room; Alastor Moody just arrived."

Harry watched as Luna stayed next to his dad, who held his arm out to the girl and made Harry himself a bit jealous; he'd been wanting to do that!

"Luna. I, er, wanted to thank you for taking the time to talk with me at the Yule Ball."

Luna, who was wearing a dress that seemed to glow like the full moon on a clear night, smiled and slid something under his hand when she took his arm. "I brought it with me, if you're ready. The potion, I mean. Do you know when you'd have to take it?"

"I do. Three days past new."

Luna beamed and Harry scowled, deciding Luna was _his_ guest, after all. He moved to her other side as they left the reception room where the Floo was. "Want some punch or cider?" he asked her, ignoring his dad's chuckle as he eased Luna away from him.

The girl, his _favorite_ girl, smiled up at him, her pale blue eyes taking on the glow from her dress, it seemed to him. "That would be lovely. We match, you know," she observed, her gaze sliding down his body in way that felt almost tangible.

Almost too tangible, really. Harry willed his sudden, unexpected erection to just go _away_. "Match? I'm all in black and you're all . . ." He stopped and gestured with his free hand in a sweeping motion. "All white and shiny."

"I'm the Moon, silly, and you're the Night."

They had reached the main drawing room, where the party and dancing were, and he led her over to one wall so they could talk without feeling like they were the center of attention. "And that makes us match?"

She took a breath, then, and her cheeks went pink even in the subtle glow from the candles of the chandelier. "The moon belongs with the night, you know. That's where she shines the brightest."

His heart thumped quite hard in his chest and he drew in a long, quiet breath. "The moon shines wherever she is, all the time, Luna. You know that." Her pale brow furrowed and she drew back a bit and Harry knew—he just knew!—he'd made a hash of it. He was not good at talking to girls! Quickly, he pulled her back against himself, so hard that she fell into him and _he_ fell against the _wall_. She was pressed, ever so briefly, to the entire length of his body and he smiled before casting "smooth" to the winds. "I think _you_ shine all the time," he whispered. Then, he kissed her.

And the Night held the Moon in all her shining glory and no one seemed to notice.

* * *

Sirius noticed his son and Luna snogging against the wall and cast a simple Notice-Me-Not about them to give them a bit of privacy. Alastor Moody saw them, of course, but Moody could not have given a rat's arse what they were doing so long as they weren't asking him to join them.

Removing the small phial and note Luna Lovegood had slipped to him a few minutes before, Sirius smiled sadly. The room with the low sounds of an old Victrola record player and some classic vinyl records from the 1970s faded from his awareness as he remembered another room filled with music: the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

 _"_ _I'm so glad you said you'd dance with me, Lord Black," Luna Lovegood had said at the Yule Ball. "You've been lonely."_

 _He'd darted a suspicious glare at his son, who was then dancing with Hermione Granger and looking rather amused. "What has he been saying?"_

 _"_ _Oh, nothing about you, Lord Black. I was just noticing." She smiled vaguely and tilted her head, seemingly having no care about how they were dancing at all._

 _He led them both toward the fringes of the dancers so that they didn't get in anyone's way. "I would always be honored to dance with you," he finally decided to say._

 _"_ _Oh, thank you." She sighed and looked at the air around his head. "So, you are lonely. You could discover your soulmate, you know. It's not terribly hard, though most people don't choose to do so."_

 _As this was Luna and as she was important to his son, Sirius played along. "Why not?"_

 _The young woman cocked her head and scrunched up her face for a bit in a way that was, truly, quite adorable. Sirius managed not to smile. "Well, there's a responsibility, isn't there, with a soulmate. To see to their happiness and well-being. Especially in times like these. When Harry had to go after . . . you know. In his fourth year?"_

 _Sirius felt a chill all the way to his toes. "When you and Neville . . ."_

 _She nodded quickly. "Yes, exactly. It's times like that that having a soulmate is perhaps hard to embrace, but it can be done!" With a smile, she swayed a little and studied his shoulder. "You should find yours. A soulmate can help you in the times that are coming, Lord Black. I can show you how to find him or her."_

 _"_ _All right, how?" he asked, trying not to sound impatient but the music was almost over and he would be delivering the girl back to Neville shortly._

 _"_ _I know a potion. My father used it and it's safe. I've used it as well. There's a spell for discovery and clarity and then you take it at the stage of the moon that prevailed over your birth." Her smile bloomed bright all at once. "That's why I'm named Luna!"_

"Eh, Black. What kind of host are you, now?" Moody punched him lightly on the arm, jostling Sirius from his memory. "I've heard your Floo open already. Who's here and why do they just have carte blanche to enter, eh? C'mon, lad, wake up!" He brought a palm-sized silver flask to his lips and took a couple of sips. "Aren't you our host, here? Or is this just another political brouhaha?"

"Enough, Moody." Remus smiled apologetically as he came in the room. "Hey, Sirius. So," he went on, "did any special guests arrive yet?"

Tapping the phial with the potion and incantation that were carefully stowed in a pocket, Sirius nodded. "Xenophilius and his daughter are here." With a small flick of his wrist, he removed the Notice-Me-Not from around Harry and Luna. "Harry! Uncle Remus is here."

Red all over his face, his son stuttered an apology but whether it was to him or to Luna would forever remain a mystery. Because just then, someone else arrived in his reception area via the Floo and Remus's eyes went wide with wonder and a bit of terror.

"Oi! Cousin! Did you put something on the floor in here? I fell flat on my arse!"

Andromeda—who had been with Ted doing who knew what in the kitchens below, chose that moment to make her reappearance. "Nymphadora!"

"Tonks, Mum. You know better. What kind of an Auror goes by the name of _Nymphadora_?"

Moody laughed, a rough sound that was more like a rusty gate opening than an indicator of genuine amusement. "An Auror with more hair than sense, I'd wager."

"Padfoot," Remus said as Nymphadora Tonks—Auror, cousin on the Black side, clumsy blood traitor, and Metamorphmagus—stomped right into the room. Her hair was black with a white streak, her dress was bright pink, and her boots were low in the heel and laced up to her knees. "Padfoot."

"What is it, Moony?" Sirius asked, his eyes on his cousin as Andromeda confronted her over her choice of language.

"It's _her_. Bloody hell, she's—"

Remus sounded so broken, so confused, that Sirius turned them both away from the intense sarcasm exploding across the room from them. No privacy could be had, exactly, but he did his best. "What's wrong, Moony? It's not the moon, I know that much."

"It's her, Pads." The man's eyes were golden, his scarred cheeks were flushed, and a sweat had broken out at his temples.

Sirius took a quick whiff and discovered the unthinkable: Remus was in the grip of a very strong _lust_. He'd have said that his best mate was in heat, but males didn't experience that. "Well, shit," he muttered. "Remus. My cousin? Really? But you've never been with a girl, have you?"

"Not since sixth year, no. Padfoot. Help me?"

"Why her?"

"Wolf. Wants a mate. How can I? I mean—"

"Yeah, it's going to be a bit of a mess there, mate. She's dating Charlie Weasley."

At that information, Remus swore loudly and Apparated right out of the room. Sirius pushed out a breath, hoped Remus was in his old bedroom upstairs, and turned to greet his cousin himself. How the hell did he mention the whole wolf-mate thing? And what about Charlie?

"Nym-pha-do-ra," he said, deliberately drawing her ire from Andromeda to himself. "Glad you could make it."

"Sirius Orion Black, you verifiable S.O.B.!" Tonks rounded on him, hair flashing red. "What do you think you're—"

"Hello, Tonks," Harry said quickly, pulling Luna along as he came to greet their guest. "Good to see you. Have you met Luna Lovegood? Luna, this is my cousin, Auror Tonks. Just call her Tonks. It saves time."

Luna smiled in that way she had that made Sirius think she wasn't entirely _there_ —though the girl had proved time and again that she certainly _was_ —and held out her hand. "Oh, hello, Tonks. I think that many people who are closer to the earth have the way of it. One should get to choose one's own name when one reaches an age of reason. I am sure you'd agree. Me, I'd still keep mine." She rolled herself up in Harry's arm. "I quite like being a Moon held by the Night."

Sirius laughed first and loudest when his cousin gaped at the girl before taking her hand in both of hers. "You, I like," Tonks declared emphatically. "Come on, you two can help me give Charlie access to the Floo, all right?"

"All right, Dad?" Harry asked quietly.

Thinking of his best mate hopefully upstairs, Sirius nodded. It was going to be one hell of a bloody party at the rate it was going.

And Hermione Granger had yet to arrive.

* * *

 _A/N: We're not done with NYE yet! More on **Thursday** , when Hermione gets to the party and the action picks up a bit. All of this, though, is pertinent, honest._

 _Oh! For the Harry and Luna 'ship, **uhohspaghettiooos** has recommended "Pottergood" as an appellation. I like it. Pottergood is a happening thing in this AU._


	12. Chapter Six: New Year's Eve, Part Two

_**A/N:** My constant gratitude to everyone reading, adding this fic to their lists, and especially to those who send me notes! A deep bow to **SopranoandBass** for catching review #500! So, Hermione makes it to the party today and . . ._

* * *

 **Chapter Six: New Year's Eve, Part Two**

 ** _31 December 1996, Kensington_**

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Hermione cast her Patronus, her active and friendly otter, into the sky over the sparce foliage in the front garden of Harry Black's townhouse in Kensington. The house was rather whimsical, to her eye, being fronted with red brick arranged in subtle patterns, and edged with mismatched, gingerbread-esque eaves. A similarly whimsical wooden door with carved panels occupied the center of the street view and the porch was lit with what appeared to be gas lanterns.

 _"The only people keyed in to the Floo are family and some people from the Ministry and such that Dad knows," Harry had written apologetically. Then, he'd given her the street address and told her to just send her Patronus in from the front garden. "We've got a Muggle Repelling charm over just about everything, but we didn't make the house disappear or anything."_

 _"So I guess my parents couldn't drop me off," Hermione wrote back, deliberately using a_ Terrestre _Biro on her parchment._

 _Harry had responded, which had been unexpected. At least his owl hadn't far to travel. "No, and I'm quite sorry about that. We wouldn't have had one but you never know who'll be coming in and out of a Black house, you know?"_

She hadn't, but she let it go. Having arrived at a Black house herself, she just had to wait for someone to let her past the wards that were laced visibly to the magical eye just beyond the wrought iron fence. While she waited, she canceled the Binding charm on her hair so that it fell in the careful arrangement of softened curls down her back. Her cloak, she kept on. It was black suede with a white silk lining. Her "little black dress" had been transfigured to leave one shoulder bare, as she'd noticed that Lord Black rather appreciated that. Audacious of her? Oh, definitely, but she felt she hadn't gone to school with all those perfectly mannered flirtatious young men and women to no purpose.

It had nothing to do with the "Lord" in front of his name and everything to do with the light in his eyes, she had decided. Which made it acceptable in her estimation. Why should the men do all the pursuing? _"I chased him until he caught me,"_ or something very like, her mother had confided once.

"Hermione!"

Her heart leapt ridiculously in her chest and she felt like a girl in a frivolous romance novel. "Lord Black." He made a reproachful face at her, mugging like a stage actor, and she had to laugh a little. "Sirius. I hardly expected to be welcomed by the lord of the manor." She curtsied as if she were indeed meeting a member of the House of Lords and felt a little thrill when he took her hand to help her regain a steady footing on the flagstones.

"Well," he said, pulling her hand to the crook of his arm, "my son is, er, entertaining and playing host, so I'm sure I'm not missed. He is, after all, Britain's Triwizard Champion."

She shook her head, because his tone was comic rather than, well, _serious_. "That sort is rather thin on the ground," she admitted as he opened the door for her with a flick of his fingers. "Nicely done, and nonverbal as well."

His hands were warm as he moved her hair aside and unfastened her cape from behind. "Let me take this for you," he said before he froze for a moment as his fingers brushed the skin of her exposed shoulder. The other arm was covered closely in black, as the little black dress slid straight down her body to touch her knees, with a slit up one side to mid-thigh. Daring? Perhaps. But it was New Year's Eve and she was a _Muggleborn_ and, well, she had never been ashamed of her status, had she?

He cleared his throat. "Is that all right, Hermione?"

Summoning her most polite smile, hiding her blush, she turned slowly. "Taking my cloak? Of course. So long as you promise, most sincerely, to give it back."

His eyes were bright, a laugh within them that warmed her. "So long as you promise that you didn't actually bring a date this evening. Viktor Krum did."

"Did he ask Rosamund then? Oh, good." When Sirius made no move beyond the tiled foyer, she added, "And no, no date. Harry invited me to your party but he has apparently moved on to greener pastures. Lunar ones, unless I badly misread things at the Yule Ball."

Sirius laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the small space. "He has at that."

They moved down a narrow corridor, passing what looked to be a library on the right. Low lights illuminated floor to ceiling bookshelves and Hermione couldn't help but stop in her steps. "Well, that is quite nice, Lord Black."

"Ah, another bibliophile, eh?"

Pleased, she smiled at him. "You as well?"

He sighed in a dramatic fashion. "No. We established the Library for my friend Remus. He lived with me and helped me raise Harry until we _all_ went to Hogwarts. But it's a good Library and Remus helps me keep it current." He grinned down at her. "If you ever want to help, let me know."

"Libraries are like, I don't know, an addiction, I confess," Hermione murmured, taking one last, long look before making herself turn from the temptation presented. "I'll behave."

"Now, we can't have that," Sirius murmured suggestively, making all the fine hair on her arm stand on end as he led her further down the corridor, to where a set of double doors was open to release sounds of various conversations, old music, and occasional laughter. "Here we are. I imagine that you'll find reasons to avoid the Library in here for a while. I don't want to abandon you here, so, ah, there he is."

"Hermione!" Harry Black nodded his head with a sharp motion like many young men normally did as he emerged from a cluster of people who included a glowing Luna Lovegood, and Viktor Krum as well as his date, Rosamund. "You're here. That's so good. You know all of us, I think," he went on, drawing her from Sirius's arm without even looking at his dad. She smiled at Sirius over her bare shoulder as she joined Harry and Viktor as well as other people in her own age group.

Luna nudged her with a shoulder. "So, Lord Black brought you tonight?"

"Er, no. He brought me through the wards, though. Did Harry bring you?" she countered.

The younger girl sighed happily. "Oh, no. But that hasn't mattered. Oh, look. Do you see Durmstrang's headmaster?"

Hermione cocked her head to study the man. He might not be her favorite person, but she respected his position. "Yes. He looks rather stressed, I think," she remarked to have something to say to Luna Lovegood's expectant expression.

"Oh, that's due to the Wrackspurts. He's being attacked," the blonde stated with confidence. "You can always tell with Wrackspurts, because the victim gets, well, _that_ sort of look about them. He's looking for—oh, yes, see?"

Not seeing a thing except a clearly agitated headmaster who appeared to be combing the gathered guests for someone in particular, Hermione did not wish to discount Luna's observations entirely. "I've never heard of a Wrackspurt, Luna." She knew that Luna often referred to creatures Hermione was convinced weren't real, but then she hadn't believed _magic_ was real until she'd caused the pavement to crack and shift two feet in Paris when she was ten, either. And it wasn't good manners to summarily dismiss the observations of an intelligent witch who was close to the party's hosts.

Karkaroff tapped Viktor on the shoulder, and Hermione could hear the other Champion mutter something in, presumably, his native Bulgarian. Then, the headmaster said the word _moody_.

"Oooh, do you think he means Professor Moody, Harry?" Luna leaned to put her head on the Hogwarts' Champion's bicep and Hermione privately thought that the girl had a real gift for flirting. Boys could be quite thick, Hermione knew from experience, so perhaps that was a good thing.

Harry Black pressed an absent-seeming kiss to the top of Luna's head—which made Hermione smile though she was quite surprised—before he drew his wand and flicked it over the heads of a gathering group of people.

Hermione rubbed her hands together, feeling anxious and wanting to draw her own wand from under her one long sleeve. "You have a professor named Moody?" she asked Harry and Luna, while surveying the confused faces about the room.

"He's our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and he's got them as well! Wrackspurts! Oh, Harry! Don't you have anything to help them?"

Sirius appeared at Harry's side and a shockwave of air rustled Hermione and Luna's hair. "Harry, what's the matter?"

"Dad, Luna's got a feeling—and I don't blame her—about Professor Moody and Headmaster Karkaroff."

"Black!" A man with an uncomfortably painful expression, who was heavily scarred and walked with a clomping limp, crossed to Lord Black. "You've got Anti-Apparition wards here," he said with far too little emotion in his one natural eye. His other, Hermione could see, was a magical or mechanical construct. "Er, I, er, have to head to the Ministry."

"Alastor!" Karkaroff said loudly. "No. We must speak."

"We should, yes. Can you come with me or must you stay with your Champion?"

Harry held up a hand as the worry factor in the room eased somewhat and people dispersed, the sounds of gossip and old music rising again.

Sirius Black opened his mouth to argue, Hermione could see, but then he stopped and darted a narrow look to Durmstrang's headmaster before confronting the Auror. "Mad-Eye? You know Karkaroff?"

The scarred professor stammered and whipped out a flask from a pocket of his waistcoat, sipping quickly before licking his lips. "Er, by reputation, you know. And, er, the first war. Right."

"Alastor! I must speak with you," the Durmstranger insisted.

Viktor moved to his headmaster's side. "Come, Headmaster Karkaroff. I vill see you back to boat, yes?"

"Luna?" Hermione whispered. "Can you make the, er, Wrackspurts go away?"

"Oh, no. They invited them. They're _that sort_ of Wrackspurts."

Sirius had his wand out and pointed at the man with the mechanical eye. Harry—who perhaps had prior instruction, for he acted quickly—pointed his at Professor Karkaroff.

The Black men shouted at once. "Remus!"

"What is going on, here?" A woman with a monocle that seemed straight out of the 1920s demanded, stepping into the tense knot of wand-bearers.

Hermione swallowed and did summon her own wand. Heart pounding, she was torn between moving to the perimeter of the room to stay out of the way and sticking by Luna and Harry to get all possible information. In the end, she stayed, but it hardly seemed to matter.

* * *

"Remus!"

Sirius knew. He just knew. Knew in a way he knew even before he got James's Patronus all those years ago. "Amelia, out of my way," he demanded with a clenched jaw.

"Now, Sirius Black, I have no idea—"

" _Stupefy!_ "

The outcry was intense, shouts of "What the bleeding hell, Black?" to polite, "Happy New Year, but we're leaving!"

"Dad?"

"Everyone needs to leave, Harry," Sirius insisted as he knelt next to the unconscious forms of the two men on the floor. He yanked up the left sleeves of each men and grimaced to see a pale Dark Mark on Karkaroff's arm. Moody's, though, was bare. He pointed his wand at Karkaroff. " _Finite_. Why did you want to talk to Mad-Eye?" he demanded of the Durmstrang Headmaster.

The man blinked, sweat standing out all along his hairline. "Promise me. Promise me you'll keep me away from him."

"From Alastor Moody? Well, he's a terrifying bastard, but—all right. If what you say benefits me and mine in any way, I'll keep you away from him."

"What about, about Azkaban?" He lifted his bare arm slowly, as if in silent reminder.

Sirius checked Moody; he was still _Stupefied_. "You've not done anything unlawful and you cooperated before. So, no Azkaban for just bearing the Mark. I remember what happened, Karkaroff. You're a bleeding blood purist, but that's not illegal. So why did you need to talk to Moody?" he demanded.

"He's not . . . he's not who you think he is. There was a plan. A long-time plan. I do not know details, I will swear upon my magic. But he will know. He is not who you think he is."

Sirius grew cold. "Someone's been posing as Alastor Moody." A nod. "Who?"

"I'll not tell you. I may be wrong and if I am, my freedom will be forfeit."

" _Stupefy_." Sirius stood, mind racing. He'd get the men out of the room. The vault. He could take them there. If Mad-Eye wasn't Mad-Eye, he—or she—was perhaps using Polyjuice. And he'd just now taken a drink, right? So. An hour. He could keep them in the vault that long. And if Karkaroff was wrong, and Moody was still Moody, he'd only be inconvenienced. If Karkaroff was right, though, the implications could be far-reaching and having the imposter locked in his vault an unable to leave would be the best call.

Remus finally Apparated downstairs, for though there were Anti-Apparition wards in the house, they had been carefully crafted not to forbid that ability to Remus and Sirius himself. When Harry became licensed, they'd change the wards again.

"Sirius. What?"

Sirius glanced at his oldest friend, almost but not quite ready to smile at the werewolf's decidedly disheveled appearance. Come to think of it, Tonks hadn't thrown herself into this mess and Charlie wasn't about, either. Sirius himself had been so preoccupied with Hermione Granger that he hadn't looked for them. He glanced back at the young woman, noting her tense features and the wand in her hand. _Good on her_. "Get Igor. Now. I'll get Moody. Take them to the vault downstairs."

"Sirius," Amelia Bones interjected, "you can't just imprison someone in your vault."

"Wanna bet? Go get Tonks or Kings or whoever, Amelia, but I'm going to do it. You can come, too, if you're so worried."

He vaguely heard Harry acting the host in the background of his mind. "No, thanks, all of you. Yeah, well, you can't argue with a Dark Mark, can you? No, I'm sure that they'll be fine. Dad's got Remus and Madam Bones, with him, so they'll be all locked up tight. Thank you. Yes, thank you, and tell them I said hello. Nev, can you and your grandmother stay? Thanks awfully. Er, sure, Mister Lovegood? No, don't go below stairs, just now. Um, Hermione. Right. Just a tick, yeah? Fred, don't!"

Sirius looked up at that and caught Fred Weasley doing . . . something . . . but the younger man's instincts were spot on and he froze before quickly smiling and tucking something away in his dress robes.

Not having time to handle that, Sirius shook his head, caught Moony's eye, grabbed Mad-Eye, and Apparated to the vault on the lower ground floor.

* * *

"I don't think he'll make you go home," Neville Longbottom was telling Hermione. "Viktor's still here as well, so . . . did you _want_ to go now?" He pulled at the collar of his dark blue shirt and undid the top button whilst watching an older woman—his grandmother, Hermione had learnt—with one eye. "Look. I know. We can all go up to Harry's rooms, yeah? You, me, Luna, Viktor, the Weasleys. Harry's got the Wireless up there and I'm sure they won't mind if we bring biscuits and butterbeer."

"I'd rather not go home," Hermione confessed, looking about the nearly empty drawing room that had once held a sizable group of well-dressed folk. "My parents are having a party and there's an MP there and far too many dentists and oral surgeons."

"Sounds boring," Neville opined with a wry smile.

"It would be, yeah."

"So come on. I'll take you up and we can wait for Harry and his dad and my gran to get stuff sorted."

"No you won't, young man. You're staying with me for the time being."

"Gran, this is Hermione Granger, the Triwizard Champion from Beauxbatons. Hermione, this is my grandmother, Lady Augusta Longbottom. She's on the Wizengamot and was a champion duelist in her day."

"In my day indeed. I'll have you know, Neville, I could have leveled Alastor given the opportunity. Miss Granger, for I presume you're English as I've heard you speaking to my grandson, I see you've your wand out. That's to the good. I advise you to heed Neville and go upstairs. We'll sort this mess out." She frowned thoughtfully. "Or, in truth, you could return home if my grandson might escort you. Your parents will be worried."

Hermione shook her head. "Thank you, Lady Longbottom, but it's not needed. I can Apparate and I'd prefer to stay here for a bit, if that's all right with Lord Black."

Augusta Longbottom snorted indelicately. "I'm sure he won't have any objection. Neville, show them up like a good lad and come back immediately."

Harry's rooms were indeed something of a suite on the second floor of the house. Contemporary furniture, a poster from the Quidditch World Cup from the summer before, pictures of himself and some family and friends. Wizarding pictures that moved, which Hermione found charming. Colors were all Gryffindor red and gold, which surprised her not at all. Hogwarts House Pride was evident to all those from her school. They found it obsessive, but quite British.

Conversation was desultory, but also edged. Harry and Neville did not join them, so Hermione imagined she wasn't alone in feeling rather like an intruder in the boy's bedroom.

"So," she said after a while, sitting on the only desk's straight-back chair and swirling around a bottle of butterbeer. "Anyone here in seventh year?"

"We graduated already," the identical ginger twins declared. "We're just here to keep an eye on you lot."

Their younger sister flung a wandless, silent hex that had one of the pair dancing in place. "Ignore him," she said. "I'm Ginny, by the way. And they're hero-worshipers of our host and his ex. So ignore them. I'm in fifth year. So's Luna, but you might have known that already?"

Luna nodded, her focus on Harry's broad bed. "She knows. And Harry's in sixth, so he can be a Champion. You're supposed to be in sixth, aren't you, Hermione?" Then, as Hermione chuckled a bit helplessly at Luna's apparent Sight, the girl shook herself from whatever she was thinking about the large bed with its crimson counterpane and blushed. "Sorry! I wasn't supposed to say. I do apologize. Sometimes that just . . . happens."

"It's all right, Luna. It's not a secret. I would have started at age eleven, but I performed accidental magic. In Paris. When I was ten. And their _forces de l'ordre_ appeared and, well, next thing I knew, a lady and gentleman from _Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons_ had come to our vacation villa and I was then enrolled there."

"Must have been some accidental magic," the younger ginger boy said before popping half a biscuit into his mouth.

"I, er, sort of caused a tiny, localized earthquake when someone tried to steal my mum's handbag. Had to Obliviate half the shopping district that day." At everyone's shocked sounds, she shrugged. "I didn't mean to do it. Honestly. It just happened."

"Oh, we know how that goes," one of the twins said soothingly. "So, you're there and in seventh year. And you've exams this year?"

"I do indeed. I do my best to study in between figuring out what's next for the Tasks."

Viktor sighed loudly. " _Da_. I know of this." He pulled a pocket watch from his robes. "I should see vhat happened vith Karkaroff. Please excuse me."

Hermione, feeling at a loss when none of the other Champions were in the room, got to her feet shortly therafter. "I'll be heading home as well. But I wish you all a Happy New Year. See you in a few days, right?"

She made her solitary way down two flights of stairs, hearing raised voices and a window banging, followed by loud swearing and the rushing of many feet. Hermione flicked out her wand again and stepped lightly in the direction the noises came from, down one more flight of stairs.

"Hello?"

Sirius Black emerged from a room down the hall, one hand held to his forehead, his tie askew, and his wand in his free hand. "Oh, Hermione," he murmured. Then, he winced. "So sorry. Hell of a, er, not the best of parties."

She stepped closer. "Are you quite all right? May I see your head?"

"Do you practice Healing as well?" he asked with a crooked smile.

"A little. A girl should know all the basics. And my parents are oral _surgeons_ , so." There was a gouge in his forehead. "I don't have any Dittany, so this might leave a scar."

"Scars aren't a problem," he said softly, eyes closed as she smoothed her fingertips over the warm, nearly unlined skin. "They just show you've lived, right? Like tattoos."

"You've a tattoo?"

He chuckled and she could feel his breath, warm against her skin. "Oh, one or two. And Harry has a scar on his forehead. Not as bad as it was before he was adopted, but—" With a frown, he stopped, shook himself almost like a dog, and covered her hand with his.

She whispered the final spell to close the wound. " _Tergeo_." It cleaned up the blood and sealed the skin against infection. "All better."

He kept her hand in his and brought his other, wand still between two fingers, to her bare shoulder. She shivered and he stopped and covered her shoulder with as much of his hand as he could, considering he refused to tuck away his wand. "Hermione."

"Yes, Sirius? Did you get hurt anywhere else?"

"Only my pride. Escaped Death Eater. I have to go the Ministry and, well. I have to go." He brought her hand to his lips and slid them over her knuckles. Lingering. Caressing. She felt her breath catch. "But. I had made myself a promise."

"What?" she whispered, watching him so, so closely as he looked into her eyes.

His were serious. Penetrating. Pupils blown wide, so that she might just fall into his gaze. "I'd wanted a kiss at midnight, _Mademoiselle Granger_."

" _J'en voulais un aussi_ " she murmured, transfixed by the silvery light in his eye. Then, she blushed fiercely. "I don't know why I said that."

"I'm not complaining." All at once, he straightened up as if he were going to give a public address. "I'm thirty-seven years old, Hermione. Old enough to be your father."

Her stomach took a dive, but she made herself smile. "I'm seventeen, and my father is _fifty_ -seven so I do not see you in that role at all, _monsieur_."

Surprise sort of exploded from him and he rocked back on his heels. Then, all at once, he smiled brightly, as if he were ten years old at Christmas. "Well, then. That's sorted." Without any further preliminaries, he encompassed her shoulders with both his hands—where was his wand?—and took full and entire possession of her lips.

It was as if they'd done this a hundred times; it was brand new and amazing. Confidently, Sirius Black caressed her, tasting her, his hands firmly on her shoulders, massaging her, branding her with his fingers.

She slid her arms around his waist, lightly, but over his coat. Madam Maxime had admonished her to keep her wits and Hermione was trying. She really was. But her brain was centered solely on Sirius Orion Black. Her senses were suffused with the scents of sandalwood and bourbon, the taste of an edge of mint, the proximity of his body. Warmth rushed under her skin and through her innermost parts. He ended their kiss with a breathy sigh before gathering her up in his arms protectively, affectionately, she felt.

His heart pounded hard under her ear. Hers was pounding likewise. She wanted to say something, something bright and witty and suave and French in all the best ways, but she had no words. None.

At length, their hearts slowed and voices intruded, coming from down the corridor. She cleared her throat a little. "Lord Black, I should be getting home."

"I'll get your cape," he murmured.

They didn't move, but her cape just . . . appeared.

"Where was it?" She had to know.

He blushed. Lord Sirius Black _blushed_. "I, er, had it in my pocket. So I could, you know, be prepared and all." For a moment, he seemed . . . young and innocent and Hermione felt her heart turn over at the flare of vulnerability in those wonderful eyes of his. Then, the moment was over and he grinned. "So, was it impressive?"

"Very much. Thank you."

"Dad?"

"Just a minute, Harry. Let me make sure Miss Granger gets out all right."

"Shite. Hermione, I'm so sorry. I'll explain it all—"

"Harry!"

A sigh. "I'll explain what I can. Please pardon the horrid hosts and all that. Maybe we can all try again in the spring."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, not answering the invitation. She fully expected to be immersed in exam preparations in the spring, but no point in saying so just then. "Happy New Year."

Sirius escorted her, arm at the proper angle for her hand, all the way outside to where she had landed earlier. She bound her hair with the temporary binding incantation, and stepped away. "Thank you, Sirius. And Happy New Year to you."

He darted a quick look around and, evidently seeing no one, kissed her briefly. "Happy New Year, Hermione. See you at the Second Task. By the way, my son is an excellent flier."

"So I've seen," she returned, sliding her wand into her hand and smiling a bit smugly. "He's not the only one."

As he was sputtering over that, she Disapparated.

She was still smiling as she avoided her parents' guests on her way up to her own rooms.

* * *

 _A/N: UPDATED TRANSLATION (of Hermione's wish for a kiss) into French provided by **Zabethou**. Thank you so much! _

_Trying something different, now. If you'd like a sneak peek into next chapter, I have one prepared for you. But you have to ask for it, as I won't send it without an invitation just in case some folks don't like sneak peeks. The charm is **Aparecium** (the revealing charm that reveals hidden messages!) so if you want the sneak peek, **use the "magic word" and I'll send it to you**. This ONLY works if you are signed in and are accepting PMs_

 _Have a good weekend! See you Monday._


	13. Chapter Seven: Mates and Soulmates

_A/N: Welcome to all new readers, and a cup of beverage-of-choice to everyone! It is, as always, a delight to interact with you. And a cup of Tipsy Duchess to **Katmom** , who deserves it after putting up with me for so many years. _

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Mates and Soulmates**

 ** _1 January 1997, Kensington_**

He could still taste her. She'd had butterbeer at some point that evening, and the sweetness of it lingered on her tongue and now his.

He could still feel her. The bare shoulder, the warm skin, the way she stiffened before relaxing a bit against him. Not too much; the girl had a good head on her shoulders. But a little.

He could still see that final, surprising, _smug_ smile.

And he grinned. Despite the fact that Barty Crouch, Junior had managed to elude permanent capture. Despite the fact that Crouch and Karkaroff bore the Dark Mark and that neither Remus nor Amelia knew where Mad-Eye was. Despite the fact that the depths of a long-held prophecy might be surfacing. He grinned. Because Hermione Granger apparently had a trick up her sleeve and she brought light to the troubled shadows of his thoughts.

"Dad?" Harry snapped his fingers in front of his face and Sirius blinked. "You all right?" Wiggling his brows, Harry added, "So? Good kiss I take it?"

Sirius did _not_ blush. Harry had seen him kiss other people on far too many occasions. Mostly Moony, true, but still. "Yeah. You should be so lucky. I mean, you know, with Luna…" He drew the blonde's name out playfully, enjoying this brief moment of lightheartedness.

Harry _did_ blush. "I think I was," he muttered. "So. This doesn't mean I'll go easy on her in the Second Task, you know. _Pixies_. Really?" He blew out a breath and grew serious. "What happened, Dad? With Professor Moody?"

"Remus and I Apparated them to the vault."

"Right."

"Well," Sirius wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders and they strode slowly down the corridor to the stairs. The vault was nestled near the foot of the stairs and Sirius waved his hand to wandlessly open the door. The room within had shelves and a tall chest of drawers, with various valuables and small chests settled about. Galleons, jewelry, family heirlooms and newer acquisitions to be kept safe within the confined space. "See, I was standing there and _that_ pile of clothes belonged to Karkaroff and _that_ pile belonged to the man you _called_ Professor Moody." He grimaced and leaned into the doorframe, keeping Harry from entering the small chamber with its blood-spattered floor. "That mess of blood _there_ is mine." Harry frowned and eyed him quickly, searching for a wound. Sirius touched the scar that was sure to be on his forehead. "I'm fine. Hermione healed me."

Harry relaxed enough to quirk a small smile. "Oh, it's Hermione now? And she healed you? Right. That girl knows everything."

"Well, she knows a lot, that's certain. Now, _that_ splatter is Amelia's. Madam Bones's. The junior Crouch caught her off-guard whilst she was taking notes as Karkaroff—yet again—shared _all_ he knew with us. We caught him, though. Remus was standing _there_ , with their wands."

Harry looked pale, even in the scant light from the corridor behind them. "Ah, so no blood from him," he murmured in an obvious effort to be casual about it.

"Lucky dog. Wolf."

"Yeah. So where's Karkaroff?"

"At the Ministry. He hasn't done anything wrong, but they're wanting to keep him protected, you see. I think he'll be heading back to Hogwarts later today."

"And . . . Moody?" Harry backed away from the vault and seemed to check all around to make sure no one was hiding. Sirius didn't blame him. "Did he escape?"

Sighing, Sirius nodded. "Mad-Eye couldn't have done a wandless hex better, I don't think. We have to find out where he is. Moody, I mean. Crouch, Junior as well. We waited for an hour, right? And then we saw the Polyjuice wear off and so . . ."

"That _would_ explain the eye and leg over in that corner."

Sirius was proud of his son's sangfroid. "Right. So, your guests are gone?"

"Everyone, yeah. Nev and his gran as well. I told Hermione that I'd try to make up for this utter disaster by having something in the spring, before the end of the Triwizard. Can we do that?"

"Sure. Maybe even something at Farecliffe," Sirius said, thinking of their estate in Derbyshire. "More guest rooms. Maybe, er, Luna might have some ideas as to entertaining your guests and such." He nearly laughed when Harry's face bloomed with color as they took the broad stairs two steps at a time.

"Dad!"

"I have to go to Hogwarts and try to find Moody. You stay here and keep an eye on things, yeah?"

"I can come, too."

"No, but if you have your map?"

Harry grinned and Sirius felt his heart lift. He still had a part of James and Lily with him. Harry was still the son of a Marauder. Two, really. "I've got it."

"Tell Moony where I've gone, then. He's, er, upstairs. Second thought, I'll send him a Patronus."

Harry's eyes went wide. "Oh, right. Howling."

"You can go to bed, if you want. It's been a long day."

"You're not."

"Well, no . . . But, Mister Triwizard Champion, you're still a minor and I can tell you to stay home."

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "I'm going to make a sandwich first. Maybe for our, er, guests as well."

"You're a good lad."

"Want one?"

"Sure. I'll get it before I go. And I want the map."

"On it."

Finding Mad-Eye was fairly easy, he discovered less than an hour later. Getting him sorted, not so much. It would be quite some time before he found out who ate the sandwiches Harry had made.

* * *

 ** _2 January 1997_**

"I haven't felt this bad since I don't know when," Sirius muttered to the mirror in his bathroom.

"You haven't looked this bad, either," the mirror replied.

"Thanks. Now shut up." He eyed himself tiredly, from his matted hair to his two-day growth of beard. "Merlin. I could use an Invigoration Draught."

"I don't recommend it, Pads." Remus poked his bed-head in the bathroom.

Sirius scowled. "You sound entirely too chipper, Moony. Look too chipper as well." He did. Green eyes bright, skin in good color, a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth, Remus Lupin was a specimen of a happy man. "So I guess things settled down for you lot?" He took a deep breath, caught the lingering scents of sex, and felt the urge to laugh. "Never mind. Yes, apparently they have."

His best mate blushed along the jaw, but he entered the bathroom and hitched half his arse up on the marble vanity. "You know Charlie and I . . . that one summer . . .?"

"The summer Nev and Harry practiced their Saint George routine? Yeah, I knew."

Remus's color continued to fluctuate up his face. "Charlie's very . . ."

"Flexible?" Sirius asked, smiling with both relief and incredulity. "You never actually invited me along, so . . ."

"C'mon, Pads. You and I weren't—" Remus met his gaze with all solemnity, respect clear in his eyes. "I wouldn't have if we were."

"Well, that's a shame." Chuckling, he shook his head. "So, tell Padfoot all about it, Moony. If you can do that whilst I'm showering, anyway. I've got to get to the Ministry. Again."

Remus told a carefully edited tale, Sirius decided as he showered. Remus wasn't watching the shower, but he was in the bathroom, and Sirius decided that he'd present his arse to him through the glass door, rather than the reverse.

Remus cleared his throat and began. "After the debacle with Karkaroff and Moody—"

"Crouch!"

"You need to fill me in on that, Sirius," Remus reminded him.

He returned to his tale, sharing how he'd gone up to take a shower in his old room and Charlie and Tonks followed because Charlie wanted to, well, check up and make sure that Remus was all right with him being there, seeing as how he was seeing Tonks.

Who was, apparently, incredibly intrigued that her boyfriend and her cousin's _former_ boyfriend had been an item, however temporarily.

"Do you have any idea, Padfoot, how awkward it is to tell someone they're your wolf's mate?"

"No," Sirius called from under the shower's spray. "Can't say as I have, Moony. How awkward was it?"

Through the frosted glass on the shower, he could see Remus sit on the edge of the bathtub. "It was awful. I mean, the wolf—he wanted her in the worst way. Right there, you know?"

"I do _not_ want to listen to the sexual play-by-play."

His best mate laughed abruptly. "Right. Well. Charlie reminded her that I was a werewolf, right off." Sirius winced but said nothing and Remus continued. "And she said she knew, of course, and had read the first book I'd written, but I could smell that she was anxious." He sighed. "Charlie was there and he told her that he and I had never had a problem and I was quite safe."

"I hate that you have to say that," Sirius remarked as he scrubbed at his scalp. "Always makes me mad."

"I know. But it has to be said, Padfoot."

"Yeah, well. Between your books and my valiant efforts with the berks in the Wizengamot . . ."

Remus chuckled. "Right. So, then I just . . . told her."

"And what did she say?"

"Well, she's a Black, isn't she?" They both snorted and Sirius then had to cough and make all kinds of noise to get the water out of his nose. He rinsed off and Summoned his towel as Remus continued. "Her first question was, 'Does this mean sex?' And her second was, 'Do we get to keep Charlie?'"

Sirius laughed and emerged from the shower, steam billowing behind him. "And what did Charlie say?"

"Er, well, he wanted to make sure he got shagging privileges both ways."

"Well, that sounds promising. Moony, you're blushing. Must've been _quite_ promising."

"Well, he didn't _complain_ . . ."

"And Moony? Did _he_ complain? "

Remus snorted and got to his feet. " _He's_ delirious."

* * *

 ** _5 January 1997, Beauxbatons' chariot pour les filles, Hogwarts_**

The last few days of Hermione's winter holiday had been bittersweet.

Her parents had made a sincere effort—driven perhaps by an attack of conscience or a realization that their only child was preparing to live a life far distant from their own—to spend a great deal of time with her. A trip to the cinema to see Kenneth Branagh's creatively adapted _Hamlet_. A day trip to see her paternal grandparents. Shopping at Harrods. Dinner out at her favorite Indian restaurant. Her father cooked his exceptional Belgian waffles for breakfast one day. She and her mother visited the V &A. All of it packed into about four days.

It was as if they were trying to remind her of all that life in a non-magical England could be. It was as if they were bidding her farewell.

It hurt. But she didn't address it; that would have been awkward and what if it had been unintentional? She didn't reassure them, either. She had two more Tasks coming up and a slew of _Brevets d'Éducation Magique Avancée_ after the final Task. Harry Black had spoken of taking Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, which he abbreviated to "newts". They were close, as near as she could tell, but at Beauxbatons, she and her classmates took their Basics a year later, choosing one year of intense study for the BÉMAs, having chosen fields of study. That was why they could study so well far from their professors; all of those with her were motivated and adept students. Competitive as well.

Madame Maxime met her at the closest place to the school's carriages as could be arranged by Portkey, the Sunday before lessons were to resume. " _Was your holiday pleasant, my dear?_ "

" _Very, Madame._ "

The Junoesque woman smiled and nodded slowly. " _And the party with Lord Black?_ "

Hermione _blushed_ ; for the kiss she and Sirius had shared was never far from her thoughts. "Exciting," she confessed.

Madame Maxime stopped in her steps, brows raised high. " _Oh? He was a gentleman, of course?_ "

Laughing softly, Hermione assured her Lord Black had been an entire gentleman. " _There was just some concern with a couple of the guests, apparently. Harry Black says he'll host another party in the spring to make it up to his guests._ "

" _Good, good_."

Inside the carriage, the news of her having been to Lord Black's party had spread and she found herself at the center of the avid attentions of ten other girls. Ten girls with a veritable bombardment of questions.

 _"Hermione! So, how was the party?"_

 _"Did you dance with Harry Black? His eyes, they're so direct. They make me feel naked! In the best way, of course. . ."_

 _"Did you dance with Lord Black? Was it wonderful?"_

 _"What was his house like, in London? Were you invited to stay?"_

 _"Did you get any pictures?"_

 _"Will you be seeing Harry Black again?"_

 _"Did Lord Black say he'd call?"_

 _"Did they meet your family?"_

" _Wait!_ " Hermione insisted with a laugh once she caught her breath. Sophie and Janelle made room for her on one upholstered bench. Alicia handed her a small demitasse of espresso. Yvette made _hurry up_ motions with her hands. " _Wait. I wasn't expecting an inquisition._ "

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," Margaret reminded her in English with the Monty Python quotation. Margaret was of the _Né de la terre_ as well: those born of the earth. Muggleborn. Never had they made a point to hold it in common between them, though.

" _Right_." Hermione pulled her hair over her shoulder and began braiding it. " _In answer, then: The party started well, but got interrupted by English politics. I did not dance with anyone, due to that reason. Lord Black's house was lovely, if a bit whimsical. I was not invited to stay and took no pictures, though my mother did ask for them. The confusion rather overwhelmed everyone. We'll all be seeing Harry Black tomorrow, I think. Lord Black . . . did not say he'd call, and no, no one met my family._ " With a nod she leaned back against the bench. " _All done?_ "

Yvette pouted and tugged her black, curly hair. "That is no way to spend New Year's Eve, Hermione," she declared in accented English.

"Oh, I think it was," she said with a smile. It was a deliberate smile, a secretive but still revelatory smile, and there was not a girl in the Beauxbatons carriage who did not fully believe that their Champion had slept with either Lord Black or his heir. "He has, you see, a remarkable . . . library."

Though surprised, they were also vastly impressed. And a bit jealous. They let Hermione retire to her private bed without further questions. Because if one of them had slept with the dashing Lord Black or powerful Harry Black? They would be eager for some alone time to relive the wonderful memories.

Hermione knew all this, but she forbore correcting them. At least they wouldn't twit her over being a virgin, anymore.

* * *

 ** _11 January 1997, Kensington_**

" _…you take it at the stage of the moon that prevailed over your birth_ ," Luna Lovegood had instructed him.

And she'd said she'd taken it. And then she'd snogged Harry to within a hair of something rather private going public, in his estimation. So Sirius guessed that Luna had found her soulmate in his son. Well, she was a bright witch. Pretty. And she appeared to enjoy Quidditch and had indeed filled in on occasion as the announcer, Harry had reported.

A soulmate indeed.

The house was quiet that evening. He had spent the day brooding, and he knew it. He'd also gone to his office at the Ministry to file the first of the latest Werewolf Laws on the sly, so they'd be first to be seen come Monday. Werewolves were, primarily, entitled to a safe place to undergo the change yet still run to keep them from hurting themselves. So he was proposing a series of Reserves that would be used for a few days a month, warded and guarded, where those thus afflicted could be safe and then treated before returning to their lives. At least he'd managed to get Wolfsbane brewed and distributed widely. Enough people had contributed to make it so that the werewolves could get it for free if they wanted it.

He'd tackle the hiring discriminations next. One thing at a time. First, get them safe. Not everyone was fortunate enough to have a best friend who was an Animagus and the use of warded estate grounds during the full of the moon.

But all that day, the night was on his mind. The moon was three days past new, just as it had been on the day that he, Sirius Orion Black, had been born in that cursed house on Grimmauld Place. It was the night that, if he could summon up every bit of his Gryffindor courage, he might be able to discover his soulmate.

But did he really want to? Granted, he had been alone at the Yule Ball when Luna and proposed that he seek to find his soulmate, but since then . . . _she_ had rather slipped right up under his skin. Brave as any Gryffindor, sly as a Slytherin, smart as a Ravenclaw, and hardworking as Helga's own heir.

Hermione Granger. Showing up under his nose covered in dragonhide, running _on_ a bloody _dragon_. And she had pranked him, flirted with him, danced with him, walked _away_ from him, and still . . .

She'd kissed him.

And he didn't know if he wanted to take the potion, recite the incantation, and have a vision of his soulmate. Because what if she—or he—wasn't Hermione?

A soulmate was indeed a responsibility. And Hermione was visiting, not a permanent resident. Even Moony, though, seemed to approve of her and that really was important. Harry liked her and Sirius didn't think his son would give him hell if he chose to pursue the witch.

Sirius silently read the incantation on the well-worn strip of parchment one more time. He tucked the phial in a pocket and moved to stand at the long, floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the dark foliage of the back garden. What would it mean, having the responsibility of a soulmate? He had a son, after all. Harry came first, always.

But. "He's growing up," Sirius murmured at the dark plane of glass. His breath misted against the winter-chilled surface. "And if I'm right, he has a soulmate of his own. I wonder if she'll get him to take the potion and all, as well?" And what if his, Sirius's, soulmate was a woman? He'd likely get children on her, right?

Harry was his heir, though. Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. That would not change, so Harry's future, the future of the House of Black, was assured. "And won't generations of Blacks rage in the Afterlife to find a man such as Harry James as Lord Black?" He laughed and saw his reflection in the window.

A dark reflection, but it laughed.

Things had been . . . lighter, since he'd had dinner with Hermione Granger. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed his life, and he loved being Harry's dad and wouldn't have traded a second of the past fifteen years for anything. But with every moment of joy, there had been the tiniest pang; James and Lily weren't getting to see what he saw.

And they wouldn't meet Hermione Granger, either. But a soulmate . . . if there was a life on the Other Side, as he'd promised Prongslet years before, they'd meet his soulmate.

He held the phial up to the window, studying the slightly amber shade of it in the shadowed room. "All right then, Luna Lovegood. Let's do this." He crossed to the bed, toed off his shoes and reclined, still fully dressed from his day at the Ministry. He unstoppered the phial, recited the incantation, drank the potion, and dropped his head to the pillow to wait for his vision.

The incantation he'd been instructed to say had been in Irish Gaelic. " _Féach ar an ceann a an chuid de do Soul a thabhairt duit síocháin agus áthas_ " or "See the one part of your soul to give you peace and joy. . ." This made sense to him as he knew that Luna's mother had come from Ireland. She and Xenophilius had been in different years than the Marauders had at Hogwarts.

What did he see, through the sharp shadows and slanted light of his vision?

 _He was in a library and all the shelves were very tall._

 _He was in Paris, and the street was shaking and men with wands surrounded him instantly and he was afraid._

 _He was in a beautiful_ chateau _with a young woman who was_ not _Hermione Granger . . ._

Even in the thrall of the potion, under the moon that was three days past new, Sirius shifted uncomfortably on his bed.

 _He was in a pit made of rock and . . . a dragon with huge golden horns was snorting and pawing at the shale and he jumped on its tail!_

 _He was standing before a mirror, dressed in a gown that left a shoulder bare and he frowned at his reflection . . ._

 _And he was Hermione Granger, working a wand to smooth her hair before tucking the wand into a slim pocket._

 _He was dancing with . . . himself, delighted to see Lord Black smile._

"Hermione," he whispered, blinking his eyes and seeing only the coffered ceiling above. "It _is_ you."

Yes, she was still a student.

Yes, she was twenty years his junior, but she didn't even care.

Yes, acknowledging a soulmate was indeed a responsibility and a privilege, for he knew, now, that everything that happened to her; he'd share in it, somehow.

But with all of that, he had to grin and leap to his feet, suffused with energy. Oh, she was clever, intelligent, sly, and brave, but she hadn't seen the likes of a Marauder on a mission.

He would recall this night in the future, when he called for his Patronus. One of the last times he would remember being that joyful for quite some time.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** __**Brevets d'Éducation Magique Avancée** \- Term suggested by **Zabethou** , for the advanced exams at Beauxbatons. Isn't that elegant? Thank you, Zabethou!_

 _Also a lift from SYSTRANet for a heading I'd forgotten about..._

 _There will be an EXTRA VIGNETTE posted later today for those who are curious about what really happened with Remus, Tonks, and Charlie... Ahem._

 _BUT! It seems that the incantation of **Aparecium** was appreciated by some folks, so...if you want a sneak peek into chapter EIGHT (which is  not the vignette mentioned here, but the chapter that will post on Thursday), just **perform the incantation**. Remember it only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs. :)_


	14. Vignette: Remus, Tonks, and Charlie

_**A/N:** Remember, this is the second post today, so if you missed _ Mates and Soulmates _? Go back and read that._

 _Also, thank you for indulging me (and **Katmom** \- it was her idea that I write this out as a separate thing and not just allude to it) with this vignette. Big thanks to **mojowitchcraft** for catching review #600. Woohoo! _

* * *

**Vignette: What Happened with Remus, Tonks, & Charlie?**

Panic. Outright panic flooded Remus's entire body as he Apparated up to his old room at Sirius and Harry's place.

 _Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate_. Moony was prowling, growling, driven by the most primal of needs once he'd smelt Nymphadora Tonks. Sex. The wolf wanted to mate with his mate and that was all Remus could seem to focus on. Fecking hell, he had an erection fit to split his trousers.

"Remus? It's Charlie."

"Shit." Of course it was Charlie. Because it had to get worse. "Come in." What the bloody hell else could he do?

The Dragonologist opened the door and peeked in, thick red hair, freckled face, blue eyes, and a remembered pair of lips that . . .

"Remus. What happened? You okay? I heard you'd seen Tonks and just popped away, yeah?" Remus just stared at him and Charlie came closer, hands out and sort of hunched over, clearly acting in a submissive manner as if worried about Remus's wolf. It seemed incongruous to have something so feral in a room that was elegant in a way that only Sirius Black could make it. Dark oak canopied bed. Rich Gryffindor colors. Hard wood floors with patterned runners here and there. An _en suite_ bath. It was ridiculous for a werewolf, but Remus had always felt comfortable here.

Charlie certainly had been . . . _Merlin_.

"I'm not hurt, if that's what you wanted to know," he finally muttered, jerking his focus from Charlie and putting it somewhere else, anywhere else. _Mate. Mate. Want to take my mate_. "Nymphadora rather . . . threw me."

Charlie whistled a low tone. "Merlin, Remus. She's . . . she's your mate, isn't she?"

Despite his inner turmoil, Remus had to smile. "Always were brilliant with magical creatures, weren't you?"

The younger man wiggled his thick, ginger brows. "You would know!"

He wanted to laugh, but he couldn't. He and Charlie had done well together but, like Sirius, Charlie had also craved women on occasion. And now he had one.

"My mate. Yeah. She's the one, Charlie. Moony's already prowling."

"Well, tell her. I'll help."

"But what about the two of you? You both deserve better than—"

"Than you? Remus." Charlie eliminated the distance between them, taking Remus's hands in his own and leading them both to sit on the edge of the bed. "You're a good man. Compassionate. Intelligent. A fine warrior and professor as well." He brought one hand up to cup Remus's cheek and the older man felt tears burn in his eyes. "Who could possibly be better than you?"

"Charlie! You better be decent because I'm coming in!"

Remus took a deep breath and the scent of his mate reached him. Moony quit growling in the way he had but Remus's heart raced even so.

"I'm decent, love. C'mon in." Charlie exchanged a look with Remus, a look filled with anticipation and mischief.

Nymphadora Tonks pushed through the door with none of the reticence displayed by her boyfriend. She stood there after she closed the door behind her, and eyed them speculatively. "Damn. So. No boy-on-boy, eh? Too. Bad."

Remus blushed, but Moony howled in delight deep within his psyche. Charlie grinned broadly and rose to cross the room to her. Remus stood as well, as it seemed proper to do so, but when Charlie brought her back to the bed, Remus could only pace in front of them, his need for his mate fighting with his insecurity.

Charlie broke a strangely nuanced silence. "So, Tonks, you know Remus Lupin, right?"

"Yeah, Sirius's ex, right?"

Charlie crossed glances with Remus, who wondered what by Merlin's saggy pants he was doing. "And you know he's a werewolf, right?"

 _Shit._ _Shit. Charlie, I am going to kill you. Slowly. I won't even wait for the moon. I'll do it now._

Tonks crossed one booted leg over the other and Remus watched carefully, heart thudding painfully in his chest. Casual as she looked, though, the woman was tense. He could smell the anxiety in a sudden sweat. "Yeah, I know. Wotcher, Remus? I read your first book, you know. _Not Always by the Light of the Moon_. Good reading. Very instructive. I think it's required for all of us in the Department, now."

He swallowed, hard, and Summoned the chair nearest the window so he could sit and perhaps not be so intimidating. Maybe she'd calm down. "Oh. Good. I wanted, er, to make it seem less, well, frightening, for those not afflicted with Lycanthropy."

"He's really quite the mild-mannered bloke," Charlie commented, leaning back on his arms with apparent ease. "Strong, too," he added playfully. "But he's also safe. All the time. He's a man, first and last, Tonks."

She pursed her lips and jerked her head to study her boyfriend, then moved her focus back to Remus, suspicion clear in her now-gray eyes. "And you're telling me this, why? Look, Remus, I know you and Charlie used to be an item, and I'm okay with that. He's never been ashamed that he's, well . . ." She licked her lower lip and Remus willed his erection to just disappear. "Flexible."

"He is that," he managed to say, voice thick with the lust that was almost overpowering him at that point.

"So, were you, ah, wanting something, maybe?"

Charlie sat up more formally and put his arm around Tonks. "Well, Remus? You tell her or I will."

"Tell me what, precisely?"

"Mate. My wolf, Moony. My wolf identified you as his mate. Just tonight. It's a scent-thing, understand. Subtle, but there, and I knew as soon as—"

She stopped his awkward flow of words with one hand upraised before she eased out of Charlie's embrace and rose to her feet. When she walked slowly across the bit of floor between him and the bed, he stood to meet her. "Mate," she whispered, walking around him as if surveying him for a future purpose.

He was _so hard_. She was _so close_. The anxiety was gone, replaced by widened pupils of incipient desire and a lifted brow that indicated curiosity. Moony settled in low and watchful. Waiting. Anticipating.

"Charlie?" Tonks asked after she'd made two slow circuits around him. He was nearly panting by the time she spoke. "You knew about this?"

"I did."

"It's about sex, isn't it?"

"Yes," Remus blurted, disconcerted to hear her say _sex_. It was like he was fourteen again. "I mean, it's about a mate. My wolf. He wants . . . it's instinctive."

Her lips rounded into a nearly orgasmic O and Remus whimpered. Right there. He had to sit down again, but his eyes never left her face. So he saw her wink at Charlie before settling down on _his_ lap.

Remus froze. She was _sitting_ on his _lap_. "So, do we get to keep Charlie?"

He could not even hide his physical response to her and she felt him. Felt him most clearly. She even wiggled a bit. He moaned. He had no more control left. Not a bit of it.

"Charlie . . ." he managed to grind out. "Charlie is always welcome in my bed." He caught the bright blue eyes across the room. A serious light was in them and the men exchanged a silent bit of communication that left Remus lightheaded.

"I want shagging privileges both ways," the dragon tamer declared. "You know, I was thinking, Remus—"

Tonks shook her head and cupped Remus's face in her hands. "Charlie. I think thinking is a bit beyond him at the moment. I think, I think we need to take care of our werewolf."

 _Our werewolf_. "That. You're. I never. Uh."

"I think he's impressed that you're okay with it, love," Charlie murmured, coming to kneel next to the pair of them, one arm around each.

Remus felt tears in his eyes; he'd never expected this. "I can't quite believe it, no," he whispered.

"Let us show you," Charlie said.

Tonks had to start. Remus couldn't bring himself to just take her, not in front of Charlie, not when it meant she would be his mate for life. She grinned, though, and maneuvered herself to straddle him before nuzzling his face, his jaw, and licking him.

She. Licked. His. Jaw.

Charlie unfastened her dress, but Moony protested that and the ginger backed off, hands up, and settled for disrobing himself, leaving his evening formal robes in a heap on the floor. Remus could smell the man's desire and was relieved Charlie had put some distance between them. Right now, he was all about his mate and he could not tolerate another male touching her.

Yet.

He had to touch her. And he did. It had been, Merlin, maybe twenty years since he'd been with a woman, but some instincts were forever. Nudging her chin up, he tasted her throat, growling a bit as she sighed and pressed her breasts into his body. With a gentle, gentle pressure, he closed his teeth at the juncture to her shoulder before moving up. She stilled for a moment, her heart spiking, but then she eased back into his body and rocked against him.

"Hey, wolf-man, what are you waiting for? Kiss me."

He swore under his breath but did as she demanded, capturing her lips with his and tasting her. Biscuits. Chocolate. Champagne. She had it all and he invaded her mouth to find more of it.

More. More. More. He touched her, his hands racing up and down her body, thumbs catching under her breasts—a memory, a smile, and he caressed them fully, drawing out her nipples with his fingers.

The urgency grew when she moaned into his mouth, her body's heat sudden and surrounding him. She _wanted_ him. His _mate_. Wanted _him_.

Moony wasn't waiting. Remus wasn't waiting. He tugged her dress up and was awed to find she was wearing the tiniest scrap of knickers that he'd ever felt. They was gone with a snap of his hands and he held her bum in his palms, kneading her, feeling her, brushing her at the apex of her thighs.

A woman. Ripe. Ready. As if _Magic_ was making this better than it would have been in his imagination. He felt her heat with his fingertips, heard her sigh and felt her hands as he tasted the _need_ . . . _her_ need. His _mate's_ need . . .

"You'll need to be on all fours, love." Charlie's voice was low across the room and Moony barely registered it. Tonks growled at the interruption, but Remus was actually grateful for it, for Charlie had also tossed over pillows for the floor.

The Dragonologist was half-reclined on the bed, stroking himself, his skin marred by scars Remus found terribly attractive, but Moony was ready to mate.

And his mate was on her hands and knees, bare arse up in the air, her feminine scent stirring his senses mightily. With a quick pass of his hand, Remus Banished his clothes and knelt behind her, pushing her pink dress up, filling his hands with her breasts, making her moan again as he toyed with their peaks and slid his aching cock through the welcome haven of her entrance. Toying with her there as well, not entering. Making his mate comfortable. Waiting until she was ready. Eager. More than.

"Dammit, Remus! Am I your mate or what? Take me, damn you, or I'll reconsider this whole thing!"

He had to laugh, but then he groaned as she backed up to him, her entrance high and hot and swollen, waiting…waiting. He entered her without a word and Moony howled. Remus ground his teeth, shocked at how much he hadn't remembered about being inside a woman. It was different. And he slid in, out, in, and then remembered Sirius's too-detailed diagrams from fifth year. With a smile that would have done any Marauder proud, he found Tonks's waiting, protruding clitoris and brushed against it, waiting for her to indicate how she liked that…

A lot. That was how she liked it, and he did his best to bring his mate pleasure, feeling her around him, hearing her voice pitch higher and higher while he felt the urge to . . . bite her. Mark her. Make her _his_.

And when his own heat crested, he felt her clench around him, gripping him, crying out, and he came, bending over her half-dressed body to bite her at the same juncture he'd found earlier.

She swore, loudly, but she also melted around his cock, so he felt that she'd forgive him.

"Sorry," he managed to say, wanting to howl, but also wanting to cuddle and make a bed of blankets and . . .

"Bloody hell, wolf-man. You sure you're gay?"

Charlie laughed and then gasped, coming all over his own hand as Remus and Tonks watched him. "He is, but I think you're the exception," Charlie said when he quit laughing and swearing softly. "So, about those shagging privileges . . ."

"Remus!" Sirius's voice rang through the entire house. He sounded urgent, angry, and Remus shook his head to clear it.

"I've gotta go see what he needs," he muttered. "Damned, cock-blocking best friend."

Charlie helped both him and Tonks to their feet and they stood in an embrace that was warm but new. Familiar, but not quite.

It would take time, but Remus felt—optimistically—that they had it.

* * *

 _A/N: Next time, back to Hogwarts. See you Thursday!_


	15. Chapter Eight: Best Laid Plans

_A/N: Happy March and welcome to all returning and new readers! I read that a few of you kind of went "uh oh" at the end of the soulmates chapter...yeah, that. Remember, Sirius is concerned about horcruxes and there was the recent "unpleasantness" on New Year's Eve... There's still a lot of A in this U but_ **Harry Potter** _is, essentially, a series about Death stalking a minor._

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Best Laid Plans**

 ** _13 January 1997, Hogwarts_**

"So really, it's not about the wand nor the incantation sounds themselves," Hermione was telling Luna. "Like everything magical, it's about intent."

The blonde cocked her head. "Like Nargles." She twirled her wand and whispered conjured faerie dust into existence over the table.

Smiling, Hermione sidestepped that and performed a wordless and wandless combination of spells that took Luna's wand from her and made it seem to disappear. "See? No words needed. And it's—"

"It's effective! All right." Then, she frowned a little. "I think, though, one should be quite careful experimenting with new methods of spellcasting."

Remembering Luna's history, Hermione nodded. "Of course," as she returned the wand.

Morning post owls arrived just then and one of them—a glorious fellow with bright gold eyes and a beautiful gold and black pattern under his wings—flew directly to her, landing next to her water goblet and extending a claw, to which was tied a beribboned envelope. "Well, hello there. Care for some bacon?" Owls were hunters, after all, and carnivores liked meat. She offered the bird a broken bit of her bacon between her knuckles and it was accepted with a clicking of its beak before the creature extended its wings and launched back to the charmed window above.

"Well? Who's it from?" The question rose and fell from all those around Hermione.

She caught Luna's glance. "Don't you know?"

There was a tiny, secretive smile. "I like surprises."

In French and English, the command came: "Open it!"

She opened the envelope to find a note and a ribbon. "No, I'm not reading this to you," she stated before anyone could ask. In the note, Sirius Black had introduced his owl, Nebula, and asked her to accept the ribbon as a token of his esteem and in memory of the Yule Ball, where he'd first had the honor of dancing with her.

She couldn't quite contain her blush as she slid the length of gold-embroided black velvet through her fingers.

* * *

 ** _20 January 1997_**

" _C'est le bordel_!" Hermione threw her dragonhide to the floor of her private sleeping area within the carriage in disgust. Nothing she was doing to the dragonhide was having any effect. She needed to alter its construction for the Second Task but was having no luck whatsoever. Knives didn't even leave a mark. The Severing charm did nothing, either. Of course, fire had no effect on dragonhide! Angry and wondering how, by Circe's gown, she was going to make this work for the Task, she bent over and picked it up. Again.

There was a tapping on the small, round window. It was Nebula and much of Hermione's irritation melted away as she opened the window to admit the long-eared owl. She'd looked up the species, of course, so as to know how best to care for him should he come again. And he had.

"Hello, Nebula," she murmured, offering her wrist for him to perch upon. "Want a drink?" She had a cup and sent water to it from her wand after taking the note from his leg.

 _Mademoiselle Granger,_

 _Thank you for the experience in translating an entire missive from French. I needed the practice evidently. Your turn!_

 _En un beso,_

 _sabrás todo lo que no he dicho._

 _-Pablo Neruda_

Her blushes were, thankfully, not seen by anyone, when she did a translation. For, of course, she had learned _some_ Spanish over the years.

 _In one kiss,_

 _you'll know all I haven't said._

She didn't know what to reply to that, so she found some scissors and cut off a lock of her hair before binding it with a ribbon of Beauxbatons blue. Romantic poetry and old-fashioned remarks were to be met with an old-fashioned token of her own.

* * *

 ** _1 February 1997, Hogsmeade_**

Luna—wearing a teal jumper, red velvet skirt, white stockings, and black boots—met her just outside the Beauxbatons carriage that morning. "Hello, Hermione! I wondered if you wanted to go with me to Hogsmeade today?" A cork necklace hung down her chest.

Hermione blinked before adjusting her blue woolen cape around her day clothes that she wore on weekends. Today, that meant dark trousers, half-boots, a cowled, red merino jumper, and kid gloves. She kept a _Terrestre_ thermometer and it was currently registering -3ºC for Hogwarts. Magic wards and Muggle repelling charms did not affect the movement of mercury.

"What about Harry?" she asked after a moment. "Hogsmeade is when you can go on a date, right?"

The blonde smiled and peered closely at Hermione's hair. "Oh, yes, but he wants to fly, and it's really quite cold. He misses Quidditch, you see, and when Viktor asked him to fly, he got permission. So I'm on my own, today."

Hermione glanced in the general direction of the Quidditch pitch. It had been declared off-limits since winter holiday, so what Harry and Viktor were planning was not precisely allowed. "I hadn't planned on going to Hogsmeade, actually," she said, thinking hard.

"Oh. Well. Can I help in whatever you _were_ planning?"

Hermione laughed shortly. "It actually involved _flying_."

"Oh! For the Task! Of course!" Luna smiled brightly before waving her wand to coil her hair atop her head. It made a pale crown. "Can I help?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, Luna, it's rather a secret. I don't want the, er, competition to know what I'm doing. I'd planned on Disillusioning myself, actually."

"I can keep your secret, Hermione," the other girl said with a sudden gravity. "I'm accustomed to keeping secrets and I'm quite good at it if I know I'm supposed to."

"Why don't we go to breakfast first," Hermione suggested slowly. She didn't want to reject the offered support, but Luna and Harry were properly "official" as gossip went, and Hermione needed her secret to be kept a secret until the Second Task. "And maybe we can combine Hogsmeade and my, er, secret."

"Perfect!"

They walked toward the castle, steps crunching on the frozen ground. There hadn't been any snow in a few days, but the grasses—hardy, the flora in Scotland—were determined not to die and so they got frozen regularly. Others from her school were entering the castle proper in twos and threes. Margaret and Phillip were strolling hand in hand, and Guilherme and Alban were finger-twined as well, which Hermione applauded. The boys had been so careful, initially, and it had taken them months to grow comfortable with their relationship here in Scotland.

Harry greeted Luna as soon as they reached the Great Hall, and then he smiled at Hermione. Behind him, his friend Neville Longbottom—another scion of a noble house, she understood—was holding something behind his back. The students of all three schools were settling themselves about anywhere that morning, as it was Saturday and the trip to the village was on most agendas that day. The Head Table was mostly vacant, but Hermione understood that was because some of the professors were already down in the village, making sure it was prepared for the onslaught of teenaged witches and wizards.

"Miss Granger," Harry said, his arm settled comfortably about Luna's waist. "My dad sends you greetings." Neville, a huge grin on his face, rolled up on his toes and produced an envelope. Harry took it with his free hand, mischief shining in his eyes.

Wary, Hermione accepted the envelope. "From your dad? Really?"

Neville nodded and a lank of brown hair fell over one eye. "It really is from Sirius. On my honor as a Longbottom." He grinned at Harry. "Because you can't trust this one, eh?"

Luna huffed. "Boys!"

"Why didn't he just send an owl if he wanted to send me a letter?" Hermione wondered, casting revelatory charms all over the envelope and not even hiding that she was doing so. She cast silently and wandlessly—the charms were quite basic—but _obviously_.

"Think he's going to try a compulsion charm or Amortensia?" Harry Black inquired with an incredulous smile.

She met the smile with a wary look; it wasn't that she was worried about Sirius, of course. His correspondence by owl was entirely above board, but this was different and she didn't entirely trust that Harry wouldn't be trying something.

He spread his hands, though, in an evident effort to look innocent. "Dadfoot wouldn't do that."

"Dadfoot?"

"Er," Neville began, "it's a nickname, you know? Like a—"

"A pet name Harry has for his dad!" Luna supplied, her focus over everyone's heads, as if she were tracking an invisible ghost.

Not finding any hidden charms or potions, Hermione opened the envelope.

 _Mademoiselle Granger,_

 _I wanted to introduce my friend Remus Lupin to you at Hogsmeade today, if you're amendable. He's the caretaker of my Library, as you might remember, and I thought it would be good to make you known to one another._

 _Though, to be honest, he's known about you since the First Task._

 _Please say you'll meet with us at around half nine at the Three Broomsticks? If you'll tell Harry your answer, he can inform me immediately via a private communication charm._

 _Yours in hope,_

 _Sirius Black_

She felt color flow up her throat to her cheeks. "Well."

"Good news, I hope?" Luna asked, focused entirely upon her for the moment.

"We'll have to adjust our plans, Luna, but I believe it's good news. Harry? Your father says you have a means of communicating with him immediately?"

The younger boy grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh yes."

"Please," she began before taking a quick breath as it felt as if she were committing to a grand scheme, all at once, "please tell him I'd be pleased to meet him and his friend at the inn."

"Told you," Harry said in a loud aside to Neville Longbottom. "Five Galleons."

"What? You had a bet?" Hermione's mouth fell open. "I can't believe you!"

Neville offered her a slanted smile as he fished the coins from a pocket. "Oh, believe it, Hermione. It's a long-standing tradition of betting on things in Gryffindor."

She huffed out a breath that blew a curl off her forehead. "Fine. Well. Luna? I believe we have plans to make?"

"Plans? With _my_ girlfriend?" Harry asked with a curl in his voice.

Luna laughed and leaned in to him to kiss him on the cheek. "Oh, yes. You boys don't get to have all the fun!"

* * *

"So, I need to practice," Hermione was saying to Luna as they neared the Apparition Point beyond the wards of Hogwarts. "Can I take you with me?"

Luna's pale blue eyes grew round but she nodded. "Sure. I've not been Side-Alonged by a fellow student before, so . . . Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"The Hogsmeade Station. It's, well, stationary and not likely to be crowded today."

The younger girl giggled. "All right. You should probably know, though, that no one ever Apparates to Hogsmeade."

"Well, I guess we'll start a new trend." She and Luna linked arms and Hermione performed her favorite temporary Binding charm to her hair, noting that Luna had hers up and coiled already. Then, after exchanging a smile with the girl, Hermione twirled her wand and they Apparated to Hogsmeade Station.

"That was great!" Luna declared, bouncing up on her toes. "Can we go back that way as well?"

Surprised, Hermione chuckled and unBound her hair. "Of course, as long as no one forbids it."

"Pish tosh. Never. So, you said that your date—"

"Meeting."

" _Date_ was at half nine. We've got time to go to one shop. Tomes and Scrolls or Scrivenshafts? You've been here, right?"

"I have, yes. Scrivenshafts would be helpful. I've been needing some new parchment. Do they carry Howler parchment?"

Luna made a disgruntled face. "They do, but they're so annoying, Howlers. I never send them. I'm sure Lord Black won't require one, either."

Hermione blew out a breath. "I wasn't planning on sending him one but _fine_. What do you need to do today?" She would simply send strongly worded notes to her Transfiguration professor at Beauxbatons . . .

"I was thinking Spintwitches, for something for Harry."

"What do they have there?" They were walking toward the High Street, having arrived before most of the Hogwarts students. Some shopkeepers were spelling windows clean and casting wards of one sort or another. Perhaps the students got rowdy?

"Quidditch supplies. I know you haven't seen him, but Harry's brilliant on a broom." Luna's smile was beatific and Hermione could only smile with her.

"Then let's go there before we meet Lord Black." Being in agreement, they set out under the winter-clouded sky. There was light enough, but it was diffuse and not remotely warm. Luna didn't seem to notice, but her focus seemed always darting back and forth

Shop windows were unshuttered and shopkeepers had brooms out sweeping out through the doors as they strolled past. Hermione recognized some of the professors from the school. There was Professor Snape, who was actually an acclaimed Potions Master, of all things. Madame Marchant at Beauxbatons had wanted Hermione to consider applying for an apprenticeship with Master Snape, but Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to; the man looked furtive. Perhaps she should ask Harry what he thought? He'd been here a long time. And there was Madame Vector, who taught Arithmancy. Hermione and Luna had spent some time with her recently. Brilliant woman.

They reached the well-lit shop and Hermione went in. "You might need a broom, you know, for something in the Tournament," Luna remarked as they entered. With a wave of one hand, she indicated where the brooms were parked, according to price, surely. "I'll be right in the back, there."

Soon, the lanes and the High Street were filling with students, mostly in pairs or small groups. Hermione emerged from Spintwitches ahead of Luna to see Neville Longbottom and Yvette, from her year at Beauxbatons, emerging from Honeydukes.

"Yvette!"

Dark corkscrews of hair lifted gently as Yvette spun 'round. "Hermione! Oh, hello." She appeared flustered and wrapped her hand around Neville's arm. "You know Neville Longbottom?"

"I do. Hello, Neville. Harry and Viktor still back at Hogwarts?"

"They are, yeah. You still have your date with Sirius?"

"It's a _meeting_!"

Yvette laughed lightly. "I want to hear more, Hermione!" she said in her accented English.

"Later!"

Luna was just coming out of the sporting goods shop when a series of loud pops sounded up and down the High Street. Neville's affable face went stern. Pushing Yvette behind him, he flicked his wand into his hand and swore.

Hermione only blinked before Summoning her wand to her hand likewise. Danger had to be evident, for she heard shouts and one scream as a fierce, horrifying visage appeared in the skies overhead.

" _Mors Mordre_ ," Neville whispered. "Girls, get to cover. Yvette, please, go."

" _I can defend myself_ ," Hermione's schoolmate said. In French.

"So can I," Luna and Hermione said together. Later, Hermione would remember that she didn't even look for a professor at that point. That she would have to defend herself seemed a given, under the circumstances.

Hermione held her wand out, shifting through spells in her memory. She didn't know what was out there, but she wasn't going looking for trouble, either. "Neville. What is it?"

"Death Eaters."

" _Merde_." She had heard of them, but had never seen the people in the black robes. There had been an incident at the Quidditch World Cup the year before, where many of the _Terrestre_ had been assaulted. "Here? In a Wizarding village? There are _children_ present."

"They don't care," Neville said. "Shit. I need to call Harry." With a swift, unexpected move, he turned and kissed Yvette in a way that made Hermione think that it hadn't been the first time. Then, while Hermione was moving to go back to back with Luna, Neville called, " _Expecto Patronum_!"

She hadn't known he could summon a Patronus. A large bear erupted from his wand and was about to lumber off in the direction of Hogwarts, she thought, when overhead, they all heard one voice.

"Luna!"

"Harry! I'm fine. We're good," the blonde said, sounding as carefree as ever, though Hermione knew she had her wand out. "Glad you're here!"

Harry Black and Viktor Krum dipped low to the street, and Hermione caught her breath, sure Harry would crash, but she remembered the First Task and remonstrated with herself. _The boy can fly, so get back to defending yourself!_

Another scream came and Harry looked anguished. "We're going to do a flyover, maybe distract them. Neville—"

"I will, mate. Go on."

There was an explosion. Fire. And the multiple micro-bombastings of people Apparating and Disapparating. As a group, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Yvette moved toward the loudest noises. Hermione had her eye open for children, students or residents, who were out with curious gazes to see the hellacious, vaporous skull that seemed to take up half the sky. "Get back inside," she hissed at a girl who appeared to be about thirteen. "Get back. Hide!"

Two figures were striding as if they owned the High Street, black robes billowing out, their faces covered by pale masks. "You there, Scion Longbottom." The voice was rough and Hermione felt a cold dart of fear enter her. It was a voice that promised pain and danger. "Where's Black?"

"Sirius?" Neville asked, his shoulders stiff, Hermione knew, but his tone casual, as if he conversed with masked, robed men often. "No idea." Then he whispered, " _Protego Duo,_ " and Hermione could feel the shield he cast about them.

Gratified, she still felt out of her element. Yes, she could defend herself in a classroom situation, but she had no experience in antagonistic dueling.

Danger-Voice made a threatening snap of his wand. "Harry Black, you dolt!"

"Here I am!"

Luna, despite the danger inherent in the situation, sighed as Harry appeared above them, hair flying behind him a little, wand in hand. Harry shouted, " _Reducto_!"

The Death Eater lost an arm and fell to the street, bleeding profusely in pulsations that would have been audible, perhaps, but for the screams.

The battle began in earnest, then, and Hermione gripped her wand and thought defensive thoughts.

" _Diminuendo_!" she called, flicking her wand at the nearer of the robed figures, moving away from Luna so as not to seem to offer her as a target. She was pretty sure Harry had an eye on her and Neville as well, perhaps. " _Levicorpus_!" Many of her spells were in Latin, but not all of them. As one shrunken Death Eater started to float, Harry Black swept down and picked him or her up in one hand, saying something that was lost as he flew away after saluting her with his wand.

"Well done, Hermione!" Luna cried, sounding happy. "Let's go find some more. I can conjure jars and you can make the Death Eaters tiny!"

Yvette drew in a shaky breath but clung to Neville as he moved away. He stopped and darted a look about. "I can't see any professors! Girls, please, go get safe, all right? There's more of the Death Eaters right there, but you'll be able to get to the Three Broomsticks. Sirius'll be there soon, and you can Floo back to Hogwarts, all right? Or at least get into one of the rooms, yeah? Out of the way? Luna, please," he said, turning briefly to confront the blonde. "Harry needs you to be safe." He turned. "Yvette? You as well, all right? Please? I only just got a date with you."

Hermione met her schoolmate's dark gaze and nodded. "Come. We'll all go. Wands at the ready. _Allons-y_!"

Neville covered them while heading to the site of the fire in the opposite direction. Above, between the village and the hideous image Neville had referred to as _Mors Mordre_ , Harry and Viktor angled through the sky. Spellfire flew from wands up and down, and Hermione felt more inadequate than she had felt since her first week at Beauxbatons. Still they made slow progress, and Hermione wondered if she should have used a Disillusionment charm on herself, Yvette, and Luna.

Then it was too late. "Ha! I recognize her. Lovegood. _The Quibbler_."

"Take her!"

Hermione didn't think, she just extended her wand into the air while her other hand spread toward the ground. " _Forteresse_!" Immediately, bands of light fell between her hand and the street, arcing from the tip of her wand and the palm of her hand to make a cage around herself and the girls near to her. "Stay right with me, Yvette. Luna," she said, concentrating on the force of the spell. "I don't want you to get hurt."

" _Beautiful, Hermione. I haven't seen that since Monsieur Lefebvre performed it before the Basics_." Yvette held herself nearly motionless, save for minute vibrations of her wand.

Luna's head was turning back and forth. "That's like Earth Magic, Hermione! They teach that at Beauxbatons? Is it too late for me to transfer?"

Hermione smirked a bit, but she was watching the Death Eaters. They had taken her magical fortress ward to be something of a challenge and they were gathering. "Watch out," she murmured as they drew nearer. "I see Harry and Viktor flying over now, and I'm hoping enough of the Death Eaters will relocate near us to make it easier to stop them all."

" _So, we're bait?_ " Yvette asked wryly. " _Charming_. Neville is going to owe me dinner in Paris before we're through," she finished, switching to accented English.

"Oh, may I watch you tell him so?" Luna's tone was utterly guileless. "I so enjoy watching him get flustered."

"Harry James Black? What by Merlin's saggy arse are you doing?"

"Sirius, no!" Hermione cried, gasping in shock. She had forgotten utterly about their date. Meeting. Thing. "Get back!" she shouted to him as he emerged, bold as brass, from the inn.

He saw her then and froze for an instant before shaking his head and resuming his approach. "Son? I expect an answer."

"Just doing some street sweeping, Dad."

Hermione's heart was trying its damnedest to get out of her chest as Sirius continued to deride the Death Eaters. She kept pushing herself into the _Fortresse_ shield, feeling her magic flow into the ground and over her head. It was exhausting, but she could hope that it wouldn't have to last much longer.

Harry cast Stunners at the Death Eaters as his father kept doing . . . something with silent spellcasting. Some of the men in the black robes fell as another man emerged from the inn, casting wandless Incarcerous charms at the Death Eaters who'd fallen.

Hermione kept her ears trained on Sirius, even as he became surrounded. Neville appeared in her peripheral vision and Yvette whimpered softly. " _Courage, Yvette_ ," Hermione whispered. " _We'll get through this_."

"Get them!"

A flurry of motion filled her eyes as two Death Eaters broke away from the pack gathering near Sirius.

"No!" The shout broke from two throats: Sirius's and Harry's.

"Ha!" The first robed man reached her shield. She lifted her head as Luna gasped. The man was met by the full stunning force of the _Fortresse_ and he crumpled as if dead.

"Bloody hell," the second one muttered. Hermione grit her teeth and dug deep within herself for every last vestige of strength as Number Two Death Eater picked up Number One and—in a maneuver as old as conventional hand to hand combat—used him as a human shield to break through the stunning power of the _Fortresse_.

" _Fils de salope_!" she shouted as he dropped the now-very-likely-deceased Number One.

Then, there was pain.

Pain. _Pain_. **_Pain_**.

Her mind almost shut down as she drew in a breath to cry out. There. In her. In Luna. There was Number Two, who had performed a silent, wandless Piercing charm and plunged his own fingers into the meat of their arms.

She couldn't stop screaming.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I'm evil. I know. See you Monday! But if you'd like a peek into the next chapter, the Revealing Charm is **Aparecium**! It works for all who are signed in and are accepting PMs._

 _French swear words from **FranceTravelGuide dot com**. _


	16. Chapter Nine: Vengeance and Hope

_**A/N** : I know, I left you on a cliff. Not even apologizing. If you've been around for a while, you know I can be evil. Thank you, everyone, for the rousing response for the last chapter. It made me very happy. My cliff-loving, fanficking heart was dancing with each review. :) A special thanks to French Guest who caught review #700! _

_We left Hermione screaming...you know, just in case you forgot._

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Vengeance and Hope**

 ** _Hogsmeade_**

Screams. Her screams. His soulmate's screams penetrated every corner of his mind.

He'd heard them but hadn't fully processed what he he'd heard when someone whose voice he couldn't place muttered, "Get both of them. The one who made the shield and the _Quibbler_ girl."

Then, someone else directed, "Get them!" in a voice loud enough to be heard to Hogwarts.

Fear ripped through him. He'd just discovered he had a soulmate and she was being taken from him. And Harry! His son!

With a fierce growl, he transformed into Padfoot. He had a memory of feeling this angry. This terrified. This sorrow-filled. That night, his need to be a _godfather_ overrode all the rest. Today, his roles as father and soulmate came to the fore. His son was on the ground, frozen as he'd run for Luna. Hermione was screaming—and he still had no idea why except for the scent of blood.

"Go, Pads! I've got 'em here!" Moony shouted, and Padfoot didn't doubt him. Didn't turn. Only ran through the confused people in black robes, barking loud enough to wake the dead. He was, after all, a Grim.

And as such, his appearance portended the death of one man. He leapt through the air, seeing only that the Death Eater was holding on to Hermione, and knocked him back so that the featureless mask flew from the Death Eater's face.

The screams stopped, but Padfoot was taking no chances as he ripped out the Death Eater's throat. He growled over the corpse, turning to make sure Prongslet was unharmed. That his soulmate, the brilliant Miss Granger was un—

"Fuck!"

The word was torn from him as he regained his human form. She was not unharmed. Not in any way. It was almost absent, how he directed a silent _Finite_ toward Harry, freeing him from whatever had frozen him. Once Harry was moving again, Sirius held a trembling hand over Hermione and murmured, "Hermione?" He didn't even recognize his voice.

"Dad? Luna and, and Hermione—" His mouth didn't quite close and Sirius couldn't blame him. The sight was horrific.

A dead man's hands were imbedded in the arms of two young women. Two unconscious young women. "If we free them from him," he managed to say, though his voice was rasped and shaky, "they might bleed too much. I'll, I'll free them, you put them in a stasis, all right? Immediately. Then, we'll get them to Madam Pomfrey. Can you carry Luna?"

"Anywhere I have to," his son stated, his focus not wavering from the pale blonde, though tears dripped from his face. "Dad. I, I love her."

"I know, son. So, we'll get her taken care of, all right? Ready?" As much as he wanted—needed—to tend to Hermione, he had to care for Harry's heart as much as anything and that meant freeing Luna first. He was peripherally aware of the arrival of Aurors, of the bustling about while people gave them room to work, of the murmurs and cries of the frightened as well as the smells of smoke and death, but he moved beyond them to work in this small space. For these most important people.

Gibbon was the name of the man he'd killed. Swallowing back his sick, he gripped Luna's arm and Gibbon's dead hand. Harry whimpered as Sirius jerked the fingers out of Luna's body. Blood flowed freely—perhaps the Death Eater had Pierced an artery? "Put her in stasis when I count three, son." He wanted the blood to flow a little to clean out any horror that Gibbon might have introduced to her body. "One. Two. Three!"

" _Cessaverunt_!"

Luna didn't go cold or stone-still or anything. She simply . . . stopped.

Hermione, however, awoke from her faint, and lifted her arm. She shrieked again, saying, "No!" with piteous repetition that wrung Sirius's heart. "Get it out of me! Get it out!" She struggled even as Sirius tried to hold he still to prevent further damage.

"Hermione!"

She stopped at last and stared at him through narrowed, pain-filled eyes. "Sirius. Are you all right?"

"Me? I'm fine. You, though, need to be still so we can get you fixed up." She opened her mouth and he could hear her drag in a lungful of air so he placed one finger on her lips. "Hush. We're going to get it out of you, get you stable, and then take you to Hogwarts, all right? Stop moving; you're making it worse." She ground her teeth against a scream and he nodded approvingly. "Good. Cry if you have to. Harry?" He pulled out the remaining hand and Hermione did not cry out, but she did scream behind closed lips—a sound he never wanted to hear again. "One. Two. Three!"

" _Cessaverunt_!"

"Good. Let's go."

He cast a Featherlight charm on Hermione and one on Luna and scooped Hermione up to take her back to Rosmerta's. Remus was just getting the last of the Death Eaters handed off to Aurors, and they met just outside the door of the Three Broomsticks.

"You all right, Padfoot?" Remus stared at the girls. "Are they . . .?"

Sirius pushed past him but with a quick jerk of his head, wordlessly invited him to come along. "Used a spell I learnt at St. Mungo's that time when Harry tried to fly."

"Ah, the stasis spell. Right. Good call. Both of 'em?"

"Yeah. Is the Floo clear?"

Remus handled that and went ahead of them to Hogwarts so that when he and Harry came through with the girls, the path for them was clear, despite the chaos that seemed to be echoing off the walls of the castle.

"Are they dead?"

"Death Eaters in Hogsmeade? No shit?"

"Will they cancel the Tournament?"

And Dumbledore's enhanced voice calling for all students and staff to report to the Great Hall. Ignoring all of that, Sirius gave Poppy Pomfrey a brief account of what happened as he and Harry released Hermione and Luna from the stasis spells.

Blood flowed, but there was no pain as Poppy took care to dose them almost immediately with a Dreamless Sleep draught.

At length, Sirius settled himself in on an enlarged hospital cot next to Hermione, holding her good hand and watching her sleep. The word "soulmate" echoed around in his head and he could no more have moved from her than he could have abandoned his son.

"Dad?" Harry looked worn out, worse than he had after the First Task. "Will she be all right?"

"Madam Pomfrey said the repair wasn't nearly as complicated as I'd feared, son. She needs to rest, of course, and then she'll need to strengthen the regrown muscles and so on. Same for Hermione. But she'll—they'll—be fine." He realized he was stroking Hermione's unbandaged arm where it lay atop the blankets. "She'll be fine," he whispered again.

"Hermione," Harry murmured, seeming perplexed. "Dad. Hermione. We've got the Second Task in a few weeks. Will she be able to compete?"

"Merlin. I don't even want to think about that," Sirius answered, studying the restful face near him. Her hair had been braided by Madame Maxime when she'd been informed as to her student's fate, and it lay like a mahogany rope over the pillow. "Did the clue say anything about fire or dragons or whatnot?"

Harry actually chuckled a little. "No. Just Pixies." Then, he grimaced and rubbed his forehead with the hand that wasn't twined with Luna Lovegood's. "Merlin, Dad. She hadn't even planned on going to Hogsmeade today, you know? Luna had mentioned that over breakfast, that she was going to help Hermione work on something for the Task."

A spike of painful regret hit Sirius in the chest and he winced. "She changed her plans because of me, right? Bloody hell. She'll know it, of course. D'you suppose she'd accept a heartfelt apology?"

"Not your fault the Death Eaters decided to show up. What was that all about, anyway?"

"No idea. But I bet Barty Crouch, Junior is behind it somewhere. Blast his Polyjuiced arse."

"Sure it isn't Karkaroff?"

Sirius shook his head and admonished Harry for his tone. "Igor's been cooperative. And he's not left Hogwarts since New Year's, unless I miss my guess. He's safe here and he knows that out there? That might not be the case."

Harry nodded slowly and began to play with Luna's hair. It hadn't been braided, and he sifted it through his fingers. "They could have kidnapped her, Dad. I don't know what I'd do if—"

"Nor I." At Harry's puzzled look, Sirius clarified. "Hermione, you berk."

Harry's face seemed to open up in surprise. "Really? But you, you've not really spent much time with her, right? I mean, not like with Moony."

"Someday, someday soon, I'll explain it. Or maybe your Luna will."

* * *

 ** _2 February 1997, Hogwarts_**

Hermione was surprised—and embarrassed and pleased and warmed beyond reason—to find her left arm was as immobile as her injured right one when she awoke. Fingers were wrapped around by another hand. Firmer. Stronger. Harder. She saw his face with an appealing scruff of beard along the jaw and above his lips . . .

 _His lips. Mmmm, there's a thought to wake up with,_ she reflected with a smile.

Then, she considered that he was sitting by her bed. In the middle of the night. The light of a single candle flickered gently over his face, and he appeared quite tired, for all that he looked very kissable.

He was holding her hand. She didn't want to move it but she did want to sit up and examine her other arm. The one that had been . . . invaded. Shaking off the last vestiges of whatever potion she had been given, she took a deep breath and decided, at last, to move her stiff limbs. "Ohhh," she sighed, and darted a glance at Sirius, who woke with a sudden shift of his features. "Hello," she murmured, watching his face.

The thick-lashed eyes blinked, slowly coming to focus. He stared at her for a long, silent moment. "You're awake."

"So it seems. What time is it?"

He shook his head as if to clear it and something about the motion tugged at her memory. He had moved in what she might think of as almost a _canine_ manner. "Was there a dog, a big black dog, in the village?" As if that question unlocked all the rest that had been building up in her mind while she'd been sleeping, she couldn't seem to stop them as they fell from her lips. "Are you all right? I was quite worried to see you with all of the—Death Eaters? Neville called them that. Are you all right? And Luna? And Harry? Did Neville get Yvette back to Madame? Was anyone else hurt?" She lifted her bandaged arm. "What happened? How did it get fixed? It doesn't hurt at the moment. Am I on pain potions? Has anyone notified my parents?" With each question, she had shifted a bit on the cot, bringing the pillow around to her lap while she crossed her legs so as to face Sirius directly.

"Where shall I begin with all of that? It's a little after midnight," he said quietly. He then cast a charm around them and, at her look, smiled tiredly. "It's called Muffliato and it makes conversations indistinct and less noticeable. Created by the Potions Master here, Severus Snape. A right git, really, but he knows his potions and spells."

"Muffliato. Thank you." Then she performed a quick teeth-cleansing charm. She did it usually upon awakening unless she was with her parents. They had predicted dire scenarios when she told them about such personal hygiene spells years before. The plaque would build up without brushing and flossing. She'd get gingivitis. Halitosis could not be overcome without twice-daily brushing, two minutes each time. And so on. "Harry," she said. "Is he all right? He was flying like a madman up there with Viktor and I was worried about him. But, I was also, Lord Black, quite worried about you. I mean, surrounded by all those people." She could still feel the shock of fear that had jolted through her to see him confronting the gathering of black-robed terrorists.

Standing, he glanced at the bed next to hers and she twisted to do the same. Luna was there, Harry on the bed with her, leaning against the low headboard, eyes closed. No wonder Sirius had used the muffling charm. As she turned back to him, he lowered himself to her side. taking her injured arm in his hands. His were warm, still, but they were barely touching her. As if he thought she'd break. "Harry's fine. He lost it there for a moment, but he's been trained to fight, Hermione. To confront Death Eaters. To, to handle himself under that kind of stress." He waited until she met his gaze and nodded. "I'm fine as well." His smile was wry, she decided. "I was an Auror, did I tell you that? I trained my son to fight like I learnt how, a long time ago. Something tells me, though, that you haven't had to learn in such a rough manner."

She shook her head, feeling the weight of her braid to be less than the sudden, intense weight of his regard. "I haven't, no. There was never a need. But here . . ."

"There has been, yes." Suddenly, he pushed out a breath and swore something under his breath before pulling her carefully into the side of his body, not regarding the ridiculous hospital gown she wore or the fact that it was open all down the back as such things often were. He didn't peek, though. He merely held her, and she could feel, as she allowed herself to relax against him, that he was trembling, just a bit. His heart was racing as well. "Hermione. I—I haven't been that frightened in a long time. Not since the night I found Harry's parents." She moved to wrap her good arm around him as much as she could, considering the ill-fit of their current position. "Yes, you saw a dog. That was me. My Animagus form, you know."

"You have one?" She felt foolish, not knowing after all her research. "And you're a dog?"

"A Grim, actually."

She moved up and looked him in the eye. "Sweet Circe. There's a story there, am I right?"

He offered her a lopsided smile before cupping her cheek and nuzzling her jaw. Goosebumps rose all over her body, which was delightful and embarrassing all at once. "Yeah, but that one's for another day. Right now, I can't even think straight."

"I'm sorry! You must be so tired." She tried, not very hard but she tried, to ease away from his hands so that he could feel free to leave. "That chair doesn't look too comfortable."

He didn't let her distance herself, though. "I am and it's not, but no. I need," he went on, sliding his hands to cup her head and brace her waist as he shifted a bit, "to kiss you. Because you terrified the life out of me and I'm afraid I'll have nightmares for a week."

Concerned, but also heart-poundingly _thrilled_ , she nodded and, somehow, he was kissing her and she was kissing him back. It was as if something had been freed between them, there in the Hogwarts Infirmary when he was sleep deprived and she was barely decent. Something wild and beyond her experience. Something that pulled at her, tugged at her, brought her to an incandescent place where he was consuming her.

She sighed into his mouth as his hands slid up down and under her, lifting her to rest on his lap. _More, more, more_ . . .

It was as if he'd heard her, for he groaned deep in his chest and she was suddenly aware of every single centimeter of him that was in contact with her. Every. Single. One. His thumbs at the underside of her breasts, making her squirm. The hard length of him, that only got harder as she pressed against him. The planes of his chest where the tips of her breasts met his muscles. The heavy weight of his hair in her fingers as she massaged his scalp, needing something to do with her twitching hands. His hips, through the layers of trousers and an open robe, sliding along her thighs.

 _Air. I need air._ She wrenched her mouth from his and buried her face at the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Panting. Needing. Her entire body seemed coiled to meet his. It was amazing. She'd never felt like this, not even remotely, on the occasions she'd kissed someone. Whether it was that boy on the beach last summer—beautiful boy, blond with bright green eyes who could sail brilliantly—or the seventh year student the year before who had taught her more about _French_ kissing than she'd ever known existed, or . . . well. There was no comparison. "Sweet Circe," she said on a damp breath into Sirius's heated skin.

With an utterly tangible shudder, he gathered her close against himself as he'd done New Year's Eve. "I'd apologize, but I think you'd slap me," he murmured. "I'm just relieved that you're not a Hogwarts student and your headmistress won't be back 'til the morning." His hands slid up her back and he stopped when his fingertips brushed bare skin. "Merlin. Hermione. I am sorry. You're, you're—"

"I'm wearing a hospital gown and half naked, yes, I know." She laughed, but she also stayed folded in his arms. "I haven't actually had this happen to me before, so is there protocol, my lord?"

"Well, _last_ time I snogged someone in the infirmary, it was Remus and we were sixteen, so . . . we weren't worried about the gowns."

She stilled, startled. "Remus? The same man I was going to meet today? Yesterday?" He'd said that Remus had lived with him. Helped him raise Harry . . . gone to Hogwarts with them for a while . . . "Oh."

He kept her on his lap but held her until she met his gaze again. She didn't hesitate; she just was settling it in her mind. "You all right there, Hermione? Yes, Remus Lupin. He's eager to meet you, by the way. Thought you were quite pretty at the Yule Ball, and he did express regret for not getting to see you at the party."

"Well," she said slowly, "the party did rather fall apart. So, you and he . . . ?"

He nodded without the slightest hint of any hesitation or uncertainty she might have seen in a _Terrestre_ situation like this. "For years, actually. But, he met his mate at the party, so he's settled now." She liked his smile as he said this and she prepared to ask what she thought to be the inevitable question. He beat her to it by brushing her lips gently with his own. "And I see what you're thinking. No, we weren't even a couple when that happened. Not for years. It's a long story, but believe me when I tell you, _mademoiselle_ , that I am in no way on any sort of rebound. You?"

"Not at all," she whispered, relief tickling her mind pleasantly.

Behind them, someone cleared his throat. "Right then. Are we done with the midnight snog? Dad? Hermione? Can't believe you've got her half naked over there," Harry said.

Sirius canceled the charm about her hospital cot. "Hello there, son. Hope we didn't wake you."

* * *

 ** _7 February 1997_**

"Come on, then, Moony. I promised she'd get to meet you. She's read all your books, you know." Sirius couldn't decide how he should dress. Formal Wizengamot? Would that be something she'd like? Or would that point out the age difference? Should he go for a more Muggle look? Like his old jeans from the eighties when he'd first adopted Harry? The casual young dad look?

Remus, lounging with his legs out loosely on the floor of the dressing room, snorted with obvious mirth. "You're acting like a girl, Padfoot. Summoning this shirt, that tie, that waistcoat. You can't be nervous, can you? Harry told me he caught you snogging the girl in the Infirmary."

Sirius met his eyes via the mirror. Which was not a responsive mirror, thank Merlin. "I just, well, she's important, Moony."

His best mate in the world smiled tolerantly before bouncing to his feet with a verve that had been lacking in recent years. Being a mated werewolf had been good for him, clearly. "Sirius. I know she's important. She's got you starstruck and I'm really quite happy for you." He grinned at their reflection. "O'course it helps that I've got Tonks and Charlie."

With an elbow to the rangy man's ribs, Sirius shook his head. "Yeah. Great threesome sex has certainly brought back the spring in your step, Moony."

"It's not always threesome sex . . ."

"I do _not_ want to know! That's my cousin you're mated to, remember!"

Eventually, Sirius went for what the Muggles called "business casual" in terms of attire and he and Remus prepared to Floo to Hogsmeade and thereafter Apparate to the point nearest the Beauxbatons carriages.

"What's that you've got there, Pads?" Remus asked, pointing at the black leather messenger bag Sirius was wearing. "Did you forget how to do a Shrinking charm?"

"This has an Undetectable Extension charm on it, I'll have you know. I've got something for Hermione here, as well as something Harry asked me to send him. Two weeks 'til the Second Task, you know. My son's planning ahead." He nodded, proud of Harry. "I think Luna's been good for him."

Apparition was done in two hops, which was vaguely disorienting but also so very familiar that Sirius shook it off without much thought.

Remus cleared his throat once they made it to forest-side of Hogwarts. "Er, so, is that the dragonhide outfit you've been trying to duplicate for Harry?" He waved his hand in the direction of the Forbidden Forest and Sirius swallowed. Hermione was there, in her fetching body armor, all alone for the moment.

"That would be it, yes," he managed to say. "Dragonhide. Miss Granger," he called, as she appeared preoccupied with something involving yoga, maybe. Lily had been a big fan, back in the day.

Her hair was braided atop her head once again, and the dragonhide was molded to every curve as it had been during the First Task. Even Remus made appreciative sounds as the Beauxbatons Champion approached them. "Sirius, hello. And Mister Lupin." She extended her hand and introductions were made all around.

"How's the arm?" Sirius asked.

She nodded and flexed her right arm—her wand arm. "It's healed quite well, thank you. Luna's as well. I'll be all set for the Second Task in two weeks. She grinned. "Well, mostly. I think. I'd ask you for help, but I don't think you'd do it, since I'm competing against your son."

"Not my son," Remus interjected, mischief dancing in his eyes, green just then. "Owl me if I can be of help."

"Oi!" Sirius protested, but he had to laugh when Remus and Hermione, two of the most important people in his life, looked at him with nearly identical expressions of innocence. "Oh, stop it, both of you! C'mon, I brought something for Harry, and," he went on, eyeing Hermione and doing his level best to keep his focus on her face, "something for you, mademoiselle."

"Oh?"

He reached into his bag and pulled out an obsidian representation of a Grim. "This is so you don't forget about me," he explained, holding the representation of his Animagus form in one hand and reaching for her with his other. "Also, it's charmed. I've been experimenting on a non-visual form of instant communication. Because," he said as her eyes grew wide in appreciation, "I know it isn't always convenient to be seen . . . unexpectedly."

"Sirius," she whispered, cupping the Grim in both of her hands. "This is . . . amazing. I don't know what to say."

He produced another obsidian figure. "You could say you'll talk to me sometime," he said, feeling incredibly smug as her delectable lips parted in evident wonder. "I've got the otter, so I get to keep you around. And if you ever _do_ discover your Animagus form—"

"Which I promise you, Padfoot would be more than happy to help you with," Remus tossed in with a far-too-amused expression.

"—We can Transfigure this accordingly."

She thanked him with a full and proper kiss, right there in front of Remus, and Sirius could not have been more gratified.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear, sending shivers right to his cock. "You're an amazing wizard." She moved away from him and, with a flirtatious but regretful glance, added, "It's too bad I can't ask for your help for the Second Task!"

" _My_ offer is still open, Mademoiselle Granger," Remus assured her with a bow.

She took his arm, then, and Remus made very sure to make a stupidly big deal out of escorting her back to the carriage.

"See you at dinner?" she asked archly.

Sirius took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, just where the dragonhide sleeve ended. Just where he had kissed her the first time. She blushed.

"I'll be there," he promised.

* * *

A/N: See? I can be nice. No one screaming. :) But chapter ten (ahem, the Second Task) does have a sneak peek prepared. The revealing charm is _**Aparecium**_ for all who wish to see it AND are signed in and accepting PMs. See you Thursday!


	17. Chapter Ten: Second Task

_**A/N:** With more gratitude lavished upon **Katmom** , who reads everything I write everywhere and still considers me a friend. Thank you. Welcome to ALL of you, with a special commemorative cup of your favorite beverage to the new readers. It's great to have you along in this AU. Really, all y'all have been wonderful and it is a joy of my days to get to interact with you._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: Second Task**

 ** _21 February 1997, Near the Forbidden Forest_**

Hermione smoothed down her uniform cloak over her hips, feeling its woolen comfort on the bare skin of her back and smiling. After two weeks of intermittent nightmares—Yvette had them as well, but Hermione hadn't asked Luna if she shared them—smiling and the slightest self-satisfaction were welcome feelings.

Remus Lupin, published author and werewolf, had come through for her in a big way. His words and tone had spoken of the great joy he received in helping her, as it was kind of a prank against his old friend.

 _"_ _I am happy to help and it just so happens," he had written, "that I know a Dragonologist…"_

 _Hermione had been introduced, then, to Remus Lupin's mate and the third member of their triad, Charlie Weasley, who worked in Romania but seemed to take great delight in using illicit Portkeys to visit his partners whenever possible. It was this Mister Weasley who had shown her how to permanently reconfigure her dragonhide armor to free her back whilst protecting the rest of her._

 _"_ _But if you want to use this armor again, Miss Granger," he had said, "you'll need to patch it with a new hide. So make sure before you do this."_

 _"_ _Would there be hide for this?" Charlie Weasley had looked briefly uncomfortable and she had reached out to him with a gentle hand. "I didn't mean to disrespect the dragons, sir," she'd assured him. "Just . . . well. I mean, dragonhide gloves and boots are all over the Parisian Magical District and . . ."_

 _He'd patted her hand as he might a child's. "No disrespect. I understand. The dragons do die and we harvest their hides for many purposes. It's just hard, sometimes. Yes, I can find you something to patch this with. Owl me, yeah?"_

So today, this Friday afternoon while a winter sun strove bravely to warm the frozen highlands, Hermione nodded to herself and rolled her shoulders as she waited for Ludovic Bagman, Games Master, to announce the parameters for this Task to the spectators.

"That is dragonhide, Harry?" Viktor inquired softly. Voices carried, and though the spectators were facing the Forbidden Forest, as were the judges, none of the competitors wanted to be overheard.

Harry smacked his own thigh and winced a little. "Yeah. You're in your game gear, right?"

"I am. Hermione? You are vearing cape. But you haff dragonhide as vell?"

"I do, yes." She nodded toward the pen where assorted flying creatures waited. "I've seen you researching that sort in the Library. Should we call dibs?"

Guarded by Rubeus Hagrid, Madame Maxime's hopeful swain, was a collection of beasts. There was a griffin, a hippogriff, and—she could now see—a thestral.

They could _all_ see the last creature, after that day in Hogsmeade weeks before. Hermione sighed, relieved that her parents were not able to come to the Tournament events. How to explain what happened?

There was a thumping sound and then: "Welcome to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

"And, we're on," Harry remarked casually.

There were cheers, more shouts for each Champion—including herself, Hermione was surprised to hear—and a general commotion before Mister Bagman was able to get everyone's attention.

"The goal for our Champions today is to choose a token from the Pixie Ring, just now appearing over the Forbidden Forest!" A circle composed largely of tiny blue creatures floated up and over the trees. Hermione could see flashes of metal held by some of the pixies, but not all of them. The circle moved and turned in what seemed to be a random manner, with the pixies themselves sometimes going higher or lower, but staying in a circle formation.

"Pixies," Viktor said, sounding confused. "I know the clue so said, but still. Pixies?"

"The Pixies have tokens numbered zero to thirty. The token a Champion takes is the one that will be the points they receive for this challenge." Cheers from the audience. "But!" Bagman said after a pause. "There are rules!"

"Of course there are rules, get on with it," Hermione muttered. Harry snorted.

"First, the Champion may not use a broom to fly. Second, they may only take one token, the first one they take is the one they must keep for points. Third, They will have only one hour and if they take too long, the tokens—Goblin made and spelled for this event only—will disappear and the Champion will receive no points at all." Now there was a great deal of discussion from the spectators, but Hermione was watching the Pixie Ring. She had a plan.

"And finally! The Pixie Ring will gradually grow wider, making the playing field larger. The Champions will not only contend with that, but also with adversity!"

Gasps erupted from the stands as well as from each Champion.

"Shite. Those are arrows!" Harry pointed, all sense of subtlety clearly gone. "I bet they've got the centaurs in on this."

Hermione hadn't expected that, but nodded. "Good thing I still have my armor."

"No kidding."

Viktor frowned thoughtfully and stroked his chin. "So ve mount a creature, fly over Forest, dodge arrows and each other, choose token, and return?"

"Quite."

And when Ludovic Bagman's wand sparked red against the sky, the Task began. Hermione took a deep breath when the boys took off toward Hagrid and the pen. Then, she tossed off her cape and started off at a run to the edge of the Forest.

"What is the Beauxbatons Champion doing? Mademoiselle Granger, recovering from recent unpleasantness, seems to be taking a direct route toward the Pixie Ring. Does she think to climb to it?"

"Granger! Granger! Granger!"

As she took the last steps, Hermione concentrated and visualized what she wanted: wings. She'd been practicing partial human transfiguration—despite advice from her professor at Beauxbatons—and she had succeeded in being able to fly with the extended wings of an eagle.

It had not been an easy accomplishment. She'd been working on partial human transfiguration, indeed, since passing her Basics, but this has been quite urgent. Visualizing the wings she wanted, bringing them forth from her own body—such concepts had been difficult for her to internalize enough to make them real. And the drain on her, initially, had been extreme. Luna had been helpful, being able to help her focus on the magic rather than the irrationality of it. And then, Hermione had had to learn to fly . . . Disillusioned, so she could do so unremarked. Learning to fall silently, to bear the humiliation of it over and over until she got it right. Flying before the sun rose, after it set, practicing to bring forth wings and soar and make it look easy . . .

A competition of this nature, after all, had a psychological component as well. And she wanted to _win_.

As she rose into the winter sky, she didn't look down toward the spectators, though she knew Luna would be cheering for her and for Harry. She didn't try to find Sirius's brilliant gaze. She merely focused intently on the small circle of tiny blue pixies and the glinting tokens they carried with them as if she had been flying all her life. As if this was natural. As if she hadn't studied and suffered to make it appear effortless.

Arrows erupted from the trees below, but she ignored them. She would be bruised later, but the arrows could not pierce her armor. So she flew, diving into the constantly shifting circle of pixies. The tiny creatures moved out a bit, away from one another, so she did a quick check of the interior diameter, pumping her wings until she was as close to eye level as she could be.

 _7_

 _11_

 _27 - I need to remember where that one is!_

 _0_

 _15_

An arrow grazed the side of her neck and she faltered, falling a bit through the expanding Pixie Ring. A cry went up from the stands but she regained her focus and flew up again.

 _21_

 _30_

"A ha!" With a triumphant shout, she extended her arm to catch the fluttering pixie and another arrow shot her! Right through her wrist, which she admired even as she gasped with the pain of it.

Still, she grabbed the shining token, closed her wings, and dove down toward the trees and back toward Rubeus Hagrid. She had the top mark for the Task in her hand and she could not have done any better, she felt.

* * *

Harry and Viktor had been momentarily stunned to see Hermione take off away from Hagrid and the animals. "What the bloody hell?" Harry demanded.

"Look! She has vings!"

"She's not an Animagus—my father checked."

Viktor laughed and withdrew a length of silvery rope from his Quidditch gear. "Vell, perhaps she is just a very talented vitch, then." He nodded at Hagrid, who said nothing aside from offering both of them a stern expression. "Right. See you later, Harry."

Harry leapt over the fence directly toward the thestral. He and Luna had taken walks of late, and she had introduced him to the herd that Hagrid kept around for the carriages.

 _"_ _You know, without a broom, you'll need some way to get into the air," she'd said._

 _He'd smiled and kissed her and, after rather a long while, got back to the business at hand. "You're the Ravenclaw and you're brilliant. Of course."_

 _"_ _Come, let me introduce you. They're friends of mine."_

Nothing about his Moon surprised him any longer, so Harry had been happy to make the acquaintance of the herd, and he had become familiar to them. So, on the afternoon of the Second Task, Harry went right up to the nearest one and held up a hand. "Hello there, lad. Remember me?"

Laughing, he mounted the thestral as Viktor was bowing to the hippogriff. "Good luck!" he called.

He had no idea, he reflected as he and the thestral flew out over the fence, what the Triwizard Tournament would have been like if he and the other Champions had not grown to know and respect one another. He could see, though, that this would be a bond that would likely last for years. Which could only be a good thing.

"Now, if I can just get the—bugger me!" Hermione, an arrow poking out through her wrist, by Merlin's broom, saluted him with a bright, brass token. Ahead of him, the pixie circle was widening and he suddenly thought to wonder how pixies would receive a thestral in their midst.

* * *

"How are you managing this?" Remus muttered from Sirius's right side.

"How are _you_? You're the one with an unbreakable date tomorrow." The full moon was happening the following day and that was not an optional event for any of them.

"Mates, remember? One's a metamorphmagus and one is an Animagus. Didn't know he'd been working on it for over a year, now."

Sirius just blinked at Remus. "And you're just telling me this now?"

"You're still welcome to come, you know."

Sirius cocked a brow and Remus blushed a deep red along his jawline. "Have my cousin owl me or something. After. Way after." He laughed a bit, feeling a weird weight slide off his shoulders as he did so. Being with Moony had been his pleasure for a very long time. He never resented the commitment, not once. But now that Moony had company, Padfoot might actually be a third—no, fourth—wheel and there was something both bitter and sweet with that realization.

He shook it off and addressed the prior question. "I am managing this the best I can, of course. It's easier to focus on this right now than to think of the way someone decided to try to become immortal."

They listened to the rules and Sirius felt a wave of relief break over him. No dragons. Nothing fatal. Right, the arrows, but his son was wearing dragonhide— _Thank you, Charlie!_ —so no worries there. And Harry had told him he and Luna had made up to the thestral herd, so . . .

Sirius smiled. "He's got this."

Remus smirked. "Oh, care to make a wager, Pads?"

Sirius almost agreed, almost said yes, because his faith in Harry was absolute. But. "No. I am not betting against Hermione. No way." The men laughed.

"Charlie owes me," Remus said quietly.

Then, Bagman set sparks from his wand and Sirius was once again amazed by Hermione Granger.

"She's . . . she's _flying_ , Moony!"

"I know."

"You utter bastard." Still, he had to smile. "Look at her. She's amazing." The sun was absorbed by the dragonhide, but it glinted off her wings. _Wings_. "Just amazing." And of course his eye was enticed by the expanse of bare back displayed; he was a man on the way to being quite in love with the woman and he definitely liked the skin. "She's so strong, up there." He snorted with a memory. "She told me Harry wasn't the only adept flier. Well, she's proved that, hasn't she?"

"Pardon me, Lord Black?"

He held up a hand, uncaring who was speaking to him if it wasn't Remus or any of a dozen other voices that he knew well.

"There's Harry! He's on his way, but look!"

"Lord Black, remember me? I'm Rita Skeeter, with the _Daily Prophet_ and—"

"Later, Miss Skeeter," he promised, distracted.

Ludo Bagman finally remembered he had a job to do. "And Mademoiselle Granger from Beauxbatons has her token! I hope it was a good one, for she won't get another chance. And Hogwarts's Champion has arrived, mounted on a thestral, in case you're fortunate and cannot see the creature. Look at Black dive into the Pixie Ring—and the Pixies dart back and away from the horse of Death! Joining Black now is Durmstrang's own Viktor Krum, riding a hippogriff! There the young men go, weaving amongst the pixies and—oh!—Black must be wearing something extraordinary for the arrows are having no effect on him!"

Bagman paused for breath and Sirius watched diligently, leaning forward in the chair and wishing for Muggle sunglasses.

"Krum! Krum! Krum! Krum!"

"Black! Black! Black! Black!"

And then, some wit started, "Granger's Won and Won't Be Back!"

"I think that was supposed to be positive," Remus called over the noise of the crowd.

"You will tell me what she asked for at some point, won't you?"

"Absolutely, as soon as we find out who won!"

Much as Sirius was cheering for his son, he had the feeling Hermione had taken top honors in this Task, and no blood-purist judge was going to say any differently.

Viktor Krum, bleeding from a wound on his thigh, nicked the next Goblin token and, as the Pixie Ring grew ever wider, Harry finally found one he approved of. Lifting it high over his head, he waved at Sirius, blew a kiss to Luna—which made everyone laugh and applaud—and flew the thestral back to Hagrid.

"The Champions will now bring their tokens to the judges!" Bagman pronounced.

Sirius tensed, torn. Yes, he was here for Harry and he loved his son beyond reason, but he wanted Hermione to excel as well. "This is not the easiest position to be in," he remarked, mostly to himself.

"Worse than the day you had to stand up against the half-blood contingent over the requirements for a seat in the Wizengamot?" Remus clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. You made a fine argument that day and you'll handle this as well. I have faith in you, Padfoot."

Hermione had had time to don her cloak once more and brush out her hair before the inevitable press of reporters surrounded the panel of three judges who filed down to the flat grass in front of the stands. Her wrist and throat were bandaged, as well. He supposed Pomfrey would get a look at it after the formalities. As if she'd felt him eyeing her, she turned her face up and grinned at him and Remus.

And she waved her token, the brass circle with the number on it, in front of her nose.

"She's got the top one," he decided. "Thirty. Full marks."

"Sorry, Dadfoot." Remus offered Hermione, though, a broad smile. "I know it's important for Harry to do well."

"I'm sure he has, just not with the top mark, not here."

"And our Champions have presented themselves! Judges, do you have commentary before we discover their points for this Task?"

Albus cleared his throat and wielded his own Sonorous Charm. "I think the Champions were all exemplary in their approach to this Task. And I wanted to thank the Goblins, Pixies, and Centaurs for their participation."

Hermione beamed at the inclusion of the non-human creatures.

"I commend Mademoiselle Granger for her creative approach to this Task. Human transfiguration is no easy feat."

Albus then proceeded to grow goat horns as if it were, which made Sirius sigh. Was Dumbledore trying to provoke an international incident?

Igor the Blood Purist from Durmstrang cleared his throat and glanced up and back to meet Sirius's eye for a moment. The man then smoothed his neatly trimmed beard and said, "I commend Harry Black for his ease on a notorious thestral. A difficult creature and he commanded it vell."

Madame Maxime, clearly in the continuing spirit of international cooperation, nodded her head toward Viktor Krum. "And I commend Viktor Krum for his use of the Reins of Obedience. They are good for flying creatures, as I have used them with our Abraxans, compelling obedience in flight without causing any distress or discomfort. Thank you."

"Harry Black! Produce your token!"

Sirius held his breath as Harry held up his token. Bagman grinned and called out, "Number Twenty-Four! Well done, sir! Viktor Krum, produce your token!"

Krum did so without flourishes. Bagman nodded and smiled again. "Twenty-Five! Well done to you as well, sir! Mademoiselle Granger, produce your token!"

Sirius nodded at Harry in the moment they had before Hermione brought forth what was surely the winning number.

"And Mademoiselle Granger, the first Champion to the Pixie Ring and the first out of it, captured Number Thirty! She Wins the Second Task!"

After cheers from Beauxbatons and the Ravenclaw contingent at Hogwarts rang over the stands, Ludo Bagman had more to say. "Harry Black received twenty-nine points in the First Task, so his total is now fifty-three! Viktor Krum received twenty-seven points in the First Task, so his total is now fifty-two! And Hermione Granger received twenty-five points in the First Task, so her total is now fifty-five!" Raucous sounds of congratulations as well as displeasure seemed to rock the spectator stands, but Bagman held up his wand and waited for silence. "The Third Task will be here on the twenty-eighth of June. We of the Department of Magical Games and Sports are hoping to see you all!"

"Lord Black!"

Sirius sighed, exchanged a look with Remus—who winked and promptly fled—the coward, and took out his pocket watch to check the time. "Yes, Miss Skeeter?" The woman was off-putting in the most awful degree, in his estimation. "I'm wanting to get to my son to congratulate him, of course."

"Oh, I can walk with you," she said with what had to be her attempt at an ingratiating smile. "Harry did so well in the first task, but he did not do as well today. I have heard," she went on, her steps quick and mincing, "that he has a new love and I wonder if that has anything to do with his performance today? Do you know this new girl? Does the relationship have your approval?"

Sirius wasn't looking at the woman, choosing instead to keep an eye on Harry who was now with Luna Lovegood and surrounded by members of Gryffindor House. A wild cheer went up and Sirius had to grin as Harry—using a move he _must_ have copied from his dad—wrapped his arms around his girl and kissed her quite thoroughly. "Clearly, Miss Skeeter, Miss Lovegood has my entire approval. And no, I am sure that his performance wasn't adversely affected by Miss Lovegood; she wants nothing but the best for Harry. Anything else?"

The woman giggled in a revolting, little-girl manner. "Well, first, I wanted to ask you about the Werewolf Reserves—"

"Not now, Miss Skeeter. I will be happy to discuss those in my office this week, if you make an appointment."

"Of course, Lord Black. And you? Rumor also has it that you have a romantic interest of your own, recently? Sources say that you saved her as well as your son's girlfriend in the recent Death Eater attack at Hogsmeade."

Sirius stopped walking and turned to face the blond woman with her ridiculous eyeglasses, parchment, and fuchsia-feathered quill. He offered her his most austere _Most Ancient and Noble House of Black_ look. "Miss Skeeter. Any relationship I may or may not have with Mademoiselle Granger of Beauxbatons is not up for discussion."

"But she's a student!"

"She's legally an adult, Miss Skeeter. And will be finishing her studies in a matter of months. Any interest on your part might be regarded as . . . prurient. Is that really what you want?"

The woman didn't even blush. "Of course not. It's not _my_ interest that is the topic of conversation."

"So you _do_ have an interest—a prurient interest—in the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion?" Sirius was doing this deliberately, and hoped fervently that it wouldn't come back to hex him in the bollocks.

Her bright pink quill fluttered by itself in midair as she made a big show of being shocked and offended. "Lord. Black! That is uncalled for and disgusting!"

"So is this interview. Please refrain from speculating about my personal life, Miss Skeeter. Good day."

He strode away from her, feeling as if he needed a full-body Scourgify. Trying to put that dirty feeling away, he congratulated Harry, made a carefully non-romantic congratulatory overture toward Hermione, and congratulated Viktor Krum as well.

"Sorry, Hermione," he murmured as he walked with her amongst the others from Beauxbatons back to the carriages. "A reporter was being . . . inquisitive."

She smiled at him, more with her eyes than her mouth. " _Well. One does wish to be circumspect, oui?_ "

He translated and replied. "For the present, yes."

The next day, he woke to a copy of the Daily Prophet at the kitchen table.

 ** _Love at the Triwizard Tournament!_**

 ** _Rita Skeeter for the Daily Prophet_**

 _Harry Black, Triwizard Champion from Hogwarts, has a new love! Pure-blood witch Luna Lovegood is making our Quidditch Seeker's heart soar even in the off-season. Luna Lovegood is a Ravenclaw and as such is known for her intelligence, and we hope sincerely that she will use her intellect for good during the rest of the Tournament so that the Black Heir will triumph in the Final Task, set in June._

 _This reporter also witnessed other relationships blooming for the Champions at the Triwizard Tournament! Durmstrang's Viktor Krum, the Seeker for Bulgaria's national Quidditch team, was seen with another blond-haired, blue-eyed witch after the Second Task. Headmaster Igor Karkaroff would not comment, save to say that his Champion was a man of sense and that nothing he did was ill-considered. And what of Beauxbatons beauty, Mademoiselle Hermione Granger? We've discovered that she is, in fact, English! And as such, it is very possible that she will meet her next big romance here in Britain before the Tournament is over in June. To be sure, she swept in to a clear victory over the men in the Second Task, emerging from the sky-bound Pixie Ring with top marks for the Task, bringing her to a first place standing to date in the Tournament._

 _Is she preparing a conquering march on their hearts, as well?_

"Well, at least she kept away from Hermione's actual romance," he muttered, frowning at the moving picture of Hermione flying with the token in her hand. Rita hadn't even tried to ask for permission to publish Harry's picture and, as he was yet a minor, she would have needed it in order to avoid being sued. "Bloody good thing." He tossed the paper to the breakfast table. It was something he hadn't considered, before the reporter had cornered him: how to handle public attention on his relationship with Hermione? If he had his way, this relationship would be rather more public once she finished her exams. Meanwhile, he likely owed Miss Rita Skeeter a favor for her cooperation. _Fantastic_.

* * *

 _A/N: Now, this might seem like a relatively mellow Second Task, but that doesn't mean the Third Task will be. Mwahaha... _

_If you want a peek into next chapter, remember that the revealing charm is **Aparecium**! It only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs._

 _See you Monday!_


	18. Chapter Eleven: Holiday

_**A/N:** Thank you, everyone, for your reaction to the Second Task-LJ Edition. Gratitude and much confetti to **Sundaegirl99** , who caught review #800! The mind boggles! I appreciate everyone who is reading, adding this story to lists, and reviewing. Thanks again._

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: Holiday**

 ** _21 March 1997, Wizengamot Chamber_**

"So I propose," Amelia was saying in front of the assembled witches and wizards, "that we increase security around all of the public areas, including all magical day schools, Hogwarts, and the various shopping districts in Wizarding Britain. I might not have children of my own in school, but my niece is the last of the Bones family and our bloodline—like so many bloodlines—needs to be protected."

"Hear hear!"

The chaos and general agreement to Amelia's proposal spun in the air about Sirius's head but he only heard it as background noise. He was thinking, instead, of the hair he held between his fingers. The curling lock of rich brown hair tied in a silk ribbon of Beauxbatons blue.

 _"I asked her to come to Farecliffe over the spring holiday, Dad," Harry had assured him via their mirrors. "But she said she had to revise for exams."_

 _"Well, she is taking her N.E.W.T.s—or whatever they call them—this year, Harry. And she takes her studies seriously."_

 _"She should be taking you seriously, Sirius." His son cocked a brow at him in the mirror._

 _The slightly defensive tone warmed Sirius's heart. "It's all right, son. She has goals and ambitions and I wouldn't want her any other way."_

 _Harry had, that day a week or so ago, rubbed at his forehead. Not over the pale scar, but just in the middle. It was a gesture Sirius knew he himself had used when in thought. A gesture he had abandoned once Harry started using it. "Are you sure about this, Dad? I mean, I had kind of a crush on her just a few months ago."_

 _"I knew that, yeah. And before pudding at the feast after the First Task, you switched your undying affection to Miss Lovegood." Sirius had to smile, even as he saw how uncomfortable the reminder made his son._

 _"I love her. I told you that."_

 _"I know, and I don't doubt that," Sirius had said. He knew about Luna's acceptance of her soulmate. "I'm just teasing. What does that have to do with me and Hermione?"_

 _"It's just that she's my age, you know? And she's . . ." His voice had died away._

 _"She's what?" Sirius believed in the soulmate identification, but he wondered what concerns Harry was having. "Brilliant? Beautiful? A certifiable badass?" It was not a term Sirius would use to Hermione's face, but conversations between men could be flavored differently._

 _"I guess I just never figured you'd be interested in someone so young."_

And then, there'd been the—well, they hadn't decided what to call it.

 _"Sirius Black?"_

 _The first time he'd heard her call his name through the otter, he'd been in bed after a long day at the Ministry. The Werewolf Reserves would be happening beginning at the first full moon of September, and he'd had a bloody long day working out logistics with committee members. When the obsidian otter had spoken his name, he'd jumped._

 _"Sirius Black?"_

 _And then, he'd found himself getting as excited as a teenaged boy hearing a girl calling his name in the dark. He reached for the otter and placed it on his chest as he returned to his pillow. "Hey there, Hermione."_

 _"You know, mobile phones have more privacy," she'd remarked first thing._

 _He had to chuckle, imagining the arch of her brow, the quirk of her lips. "How so?"_

 _"Well, I only have to punch in some numbers, not say your name so that anyone can hear."_

 _"Are you a witch or aren't you, love? Muffling charms, anyone?"_

 _There was silence and he hoped he hadn't offended her. After all, she'd proven her brilliance many times over as far as he was concerned. "Right. Thank you. I'll just do that next time. So. I wanted to apologize for having to decline Harry's invitation for the spring holiday." He heard a shuffling sound and imagined she was in bed as well, and that made him wonder what she wore to bed or if she went basically bare as he did._

 _She probably didn't, as she was in a carriage with a bunch of other people. He smiled and shook his head, grateful she couldn't see him._

 _"Right. So, I told him you had to revise and I fully support that," he said after she settled in a bit and it got quiet._

 _"Exactly, but I didn't want to be rude, either. Also, I had planned on spending Easter weekend with my parents."_

 _"Of course. What about inviting them to Farecliffe as well? And," he went on, doing his best to sound persuasive and wondering how effective he'd be with just his voice, "you know, you could revise in Derbyshire. I do have a large library."_

 _He didn't know why she giggled for several seconds, but the sound had him grinning and wishing hard that he could see her. "I am sure you do," she murmured, sounding breathless. That sound got him half-erect and he blew out a quiet breath. "The BÉMAs are extensive, of course, and—"_

 _"What exams are you sitting?"_

 _"Oh! Charms, Transfiguration, Magical Beings and Cultures, Potions, Runes, Arithmancy, Earth Magics, and Herbology."_

 _"Merlin, woman. When do you find time to breathe? And what about Defense?" Then, he winced because he felt he already knew the answer._

 _She sighed. "Well, I passed the Basics for Defense, but, as you saw . . . it's not my strongest subject." He heard her take a sharp breath. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am. I feel like I failed and I don't know how to improve or fix it, you know?"_

 _"You don't need to apologize, Hermione. Your focus has been different, there." He grimaced, wondering if that could be adjusted but also privately hoping she'd never be that close to a Death Eater again. "So. Exams. I have advanced marks in Charms,Transfiguration, and Potions. Remus is brilliant with Runes and Arithmancy, and I know he'll be up here for a few days. We can be of some help with your revisions." Studying on holiday. Yes, his soulmate was a pretty little swot, but he had always appreciated people with brains. Remus was the prime example, there._

 _She laughed a little. "You make it very tempting, Lord Black."_

 _"That was the general idea, mademoiselle."_

So, here he was, stuck in the Wizengamot listening to discussions on very important matters, when all he wanted was to get to Farecliffe and make sure the house-elves were preparing the best guest suite for Hermione. He wanted to assign one of the elves to help her in the library. He wanted . . . rather a great deal, actually.

And she was, as he'd been reminded on more than one occasion, still a student.

He wove the lock of her hair through his fingers, enjoying the texture, the way the curls sort of caressed his knuckles, and he remembered how she'd tasted on New Year's Eve. And how she'd felt in his arms the night after the Second Task, when he'd walked her back to her carriage.

After the session was over, he hurried to his office, eager to handle memos that had arrived before he could leave for his own spring holiday. Once at his desk, he pulled out the otter from his desk drawer and said, "Hermione Granger."

He was gratified by her immediate response. "Sirius! All right, so I feel a bit odd, you know, talking to a piece of rock, but it's _your_ obsidian and that makes it quite nice."

He laughed a bit and heard her sigh before he asked, "You working hard, love?"

"Rather yes. Also packing. I've been invited to a house party in Derbyshire. I feel rather like a character in a Jane Austen novel."

Jane Austen . . . He thought hard, but couldn't remember having read anything by Jane Austen. "Muggle author?"

"Indeed. English Muggle romance author. Quite famous. And one of her heroes had a grand estate in Derbyshire!"

He leaned back in his chair and relaxed, crossing his legs at the ankles. "So does that make me a romance hero?" She didn't answer right away, but he remembered that she was seventeen and female, so he tried again. "Hermione?"

"I'm just quite flushed at the moment, Sirius. Forgive me. Yes, I suppose you would do quite well as Mister Darcy. Except you truly are a gentleman, not a proud, obnoxious git."

"Would that make you the heroine, then?" He felt his heart thud as he asked, but he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed about that. She was his _soulmate_ , wasn't she? He could ask.

Right?

"I, I don't know. I've never considered myself a—no, wait, that's not precisely true." Her voice went soft and quiet and Sirius was unexpectedly moved when she murmured, "You've made me feel quite like a romance heroine, Sirius. Which is unexpected, but . . . I'm not complaining."

His throat clogged with some sort of awkward emotion he couldn't deal with just then. "Well," he said after clearing it a bit, "that's fine, then." He blew out a breath. "So. Right. You're packing you said? You have the portkey I sent you?"

"I do indeed. Thank you. I'll be there tomorrow, as planned."

"Looking forward to seeing you," he said, rubbing the otter between its tiny black ears. He wondered if she did the same, petting the Grim or anything like that.

"I do hope you have a worktable for me in the library," she said, her voice teasing. "I am very much looking forward to seeing you, but I do have to get my revising done."

"I'll have Remus set it up. He always was the swot in our group."

After sending his Patronus to his best mate to make sure that happened, Sirius finished the last memos and left them with his secretary.

He was hoping for a light, airy, romantic week with his soulmate. He really was.

* * *

 ** _22 March 1997, Farecliffe in Derbyshire_**

"Thank Circe it's not Pemberley." Hermione smiled at the iron gates that greeted her when she arrived at Farecliffe. Iron was handy for boundary markers, she knew. They were a passive deterrent against the Fae and other spirits that might have a deleterious influence on a property or person. She'd learnt a good deal of very practical magic in her Earth Magics lessons.

Farecliffe Hall, what she could see of it, was a rather modest manor, but the grounds were extensive. She even saw spring sunshine glinting off of what looked to be Quidditch rings. "Of course. Harry. And I imagine Sirius was a Quidditch star in his youth as well." Laughing, she shook her head and was about to send her Patronus to Sirius to let him know of her arrival when a blue-eyed house-elf popped into her field of view, right on the other side of the gate.

"Yous bein' Missy Granger! I sees you in the _Prophet_ paper and yous is famous! Lord Black and Mister Harry is expecting you!" The house-elf looked to be a female, wearing a pretty white tunic with a badge that looked to contain Sirius's Grim as well as an antlered stag. There was a quote there as well: _En Stirps Nobilis et Gens Antiquissima Black_. She thought that meant something along the lines of: _Behold the noble family and oldest clan Black_.

Well, she'd known they were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight of Wizarding Britain. It seemed . . . appropriate? . . . that the family house-elves would bear the family motto.

"I am Hermione Granger, yes. And you are?"

"I's bein' Connie! I's bein' a big help to Missy Granger!"

"I'm sure you are." Hermione smiled. Beauxbatons had house-elves in abundance and they were always very formal, careful creatures. She hadn't seen many at Hogwarts, so Connie was the only one she'd met in England. "Is Lord Black at home?"

"He is! And he's expecting Missy Granger!" With a snap of her fingers, Connie had opened the wide gate with a barely-heard movement of air. Then, as Hermione stepped beyond it to the graveled path, the elf grinned. "I's be taking yous things inside, Missy Granger! Look, here's Lord Black and Mister Harry!"

Hermione followed the direction Connie pointed to see Padfoot—the name she'd learnt was associated with Sirius's Animagus form—racing Hogwarts' Triwizard Champion, who was on his broom, of all things. Harry called out, "Hermione! You made it! Excellent!"

Sirius—Padfoot—barked, his tail wagging like a crazy thing as the huge canine loped over to her and actually started licking her jaw as the house-elf popped away.

She didn't know whether to laugh or push him away. "Harry Black, make him stop!"

"That, I think, is a relationship issue you'll have to figure out for yourselves," the younger Champion said with a smug sort of grin. "I have to figure out how to see Wrackspurts. We all have to deal with something." He hovered low over the ground and nudged the Grim with the toe of his trainers. "You get the Grim."

Padfoot—Sirius—barked right in her face, his eyes the same brilliant gray they were when he was human, and Hermione felt her cheeks heat with a blush. "Er, all right then. Thanks for clearing that up for me."

"Connie's got you all sorted, so I'll leave you with Dad. He's had the library all prepared, you know." Harry let his broom lift him above her head and he hovered again. "Try not to use your entire vacation for revising, yeah?" He directed the racing broom back toward the manor and Padfoot acted a bit like a puppy for a moment until they were entirely alone under the mild sun of the spring morning.

"So, Sirius?" Hermione studied the Grim, who gleamed like obsidian. "Do I get to see this wonderful estate or what? And do I need a leash?"

In a flowing rush of magic, Padfoot transformed into Sirius Black and Hermione felt an awed smile spread over her face. "Impressed?" he asked with a grin.

"Definitely. You're amazing. I've told you that before."

He beamed, and she was once again struck by the sheer innocent ebullience of the man. How he kept such a light inside of him she didn't know, but she was quite pleased that he did.

Offering her his arm, he asked, "May I escort you, my lady?"

"Of course, good sir."

"So, does this look like that Muggle author's book?"

She laughed a little. "Not quite Georgian enough, but close! Thank you for inviting me and being willing to accommodate my need to revise."

He covered her hand, which rested at his elbow, with his. "I am in full support of this, having gone to school with Moony and, and Lily."

"Harry's mother."

"Yes." He drew in a loud breath and continued. "But. I really must insist we do something ridiculous first."

* * *

"You. Are. Insaaaaaane!" Hermione shouted from somewhere near his right shoulder.

Sirius laughed, his whole body feeling as free as the wind. "But I'm an amazing wizard!" he called back to her. He felt her tighten her grip around him—again—as he banked his motorcycle to return for another fly-by over the manor. Harry had chuckled to see him take it out; it had been ages since he'd flown the thing, but today was perfect.

And she was the perfect passenger. Her thighs gripped him tightly, her arms drew him back into her body, and he could feel the softness of her curves even through the leather jacket he'd loaned her for the excursion. He covered one of her hands in one of his as they buzzed by a chimney and she relaxed just the tiniest bit against him.

Progress!

After another pass, during which he managed to bring her fist to his mouth to press a kiss to the cold, soft skin, he eased the cycle down and walked it back into the carriage house. No carriages here, but the old labels stuck, didn't they? "Come on," he said afterward, grabbing her hand and walking for all the world as if they were both teenagers and he was going to abscond with her to find a good snogging corner. "I want to show you the library, give you a tour, you know, and then I'll leave you alone until lunch."

She sighed, sounding happy, and he relished the simple ease of being in her company. She was his _soulmate_. The wonder of that coursed through him and he wanted—so very much—to know if she'd take the potion and recite the Gaelic incantation as well. To experience the wonder of seeing through _his_ eyes.

Painful as that might be, he still wanted it for her. For them.

"Good flight, Padfoot?" Remus asked, crossing a tiled hallway with a plate of biscuits in one hand.

"It really was. I'm going to give her a tour of the library, now."

Mischief danced in Moony's eyes, but he merely said, "I'll leave you to it, then. Miss Granger, a pleasure to see you."

"Hermione," she said, sounding as if it wasn't the first time she'd told him to use her given name.

"Hermione." He tossed a small, sugary biscuit up and caught it in his mouth before disappearing up a flight of stairs.

Sirius tugged on her hand and led her back toward the library, murmuring, "Close your eyes."

She huffed but did as he asked. He stared at her in silence for a moment until she raised her brows—eyes still closed—and asked, "Sirius?"

"Come on," he said, fingers laced with hers as he led her into the central reading area of the Farecliffe Library. "I've had much of my other libraries transferred here for your visit," he explained as he moved behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She leaned back into him, which was intensely gratifying, and he dropped a kiss to her hair. "And you met Connie, and she'll be at your disposal whilst you're here. Open your eyes."

She did and he grinned at the patent awe she displayed as she turned about to see the entire room. "Oh, my." Meeting his eyes, she blushed. "Sorry. I mean, I told you I had a thing for libraries, didn't I?"

He wiggled his brows. "Counting on it," he murmured, encircling her shoulders with one arm and leading her back into a section of tall shelves. Light pierced the room in slanted planes over the tops of books, casting shadows and showing off dust motes that he was sure appealed to her.

She grinned, flaring a hand into the light. "It smells exactly as a library ought. Books and parchment and . . . there's the sense of quiet, you know?"

"Mm-hmm." He stopped at the juncture of two shelves against a wall. It was a sturdy location; he'd checked the day before. "And there's no one here but us." He watched as she darted glances both ways, as if she were going to cross a road. "No wide-awake son in the next bed."

"No bespectacled journalist . . ." She grinned and stepped near enough so that their feet were touching. "No crowds of students."

"No best friends, either. At least, not in the library."

"Good thing."

"Yeah." And then, he didn't say anything more. He just wanted to feel her. Again. Forever. He fisted his hands in her borrowed leather jacket—which he was absolutely going to make sure Connie packed into her luggage when she left—and tugged her until she was pressed entirely against him. Her eyes were wide, letting him in without even a hint of hiding anything. Her lips parted and she sank her curves into the planes of his body.

Words were entirely superfluous as he brought her arms around his shoulders before sliding his own hands under the jacket. Her top was smooth and silky, warming under his palms. He watched her expression as he lightly pressed into her ribs through the shirt, making sure she was on board with this.

When she stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his, he had no more concerns at all. He only wanted to taste her, so he did. Parting her lips with his own and possessing her mouth entirely. She tasted of mint and wind, and she explored him as thoroughly as he did her. When her fingers started pulling at his hair, he felt free to move his hands up and down over her sides, then her back, then her abdomen. Then, he cupped her breasts, feeling them under his hands, loving that she didn't indicate in any way that he should stop. He didn't want to.

He wanted skin, so he slid his hands down and then up again, following the same paths as before, but on her skin. Feeling her lacy lingerie, hearing her moan in his mouth and catching his breath as she did when the peaks of her breasts met his thumbs.

"Mmm. Mione," he murmured, kneading her flesh, feeling her thighs loosen as she was so relaxed against him. His own flesh hardened but he didn't move away. He felt so damned good right where he was. He didn't think it could get any better just then.

Until she moved. Lightning quick as if she were on a mission, Hermione had her hands under his shirt, caressing his ribs, and he wrenched his mouth from hers with a gasp. She froze and he shook his head. "No, don't stop," he managed to say over the sheer arousal that seemed to swamp his entire body. "Please." She splayed her fingers over his chest, watching his face, and he made a quick move himself, gripping her hips and grinding his own into her. "Please," he said again.

Begging. Sirius Black was begging. He didn't care.

Hermione had her head tilted to one side, biting her lower lip, her fingers brushing his hardened nipples and he wanted . . .

Wanted it _all_. Right _there_.

So he made himself stop. Because he'd promised her time to revise and he wasn't going to do anything she might perceive as contrary to her best interests. He pressed her hands against his chest briefly and waited until she was clear-eyed and focused on him again. "Hey. I am going to hate myself in about five minutes, but I made you a promise to let you revise for your exams."

Her face went a dusky rose shade and she nodded. "You did. And here I am, learning quite a bit about you, you know."

He laughed and made a show of straightening out their clothing. "Likewise, clearly. But."

"Yeah. But. Thank you, Sirius. You're . . . a remarkable man."

Choosing to lighten the moment, he preened and stepped a bit away from her. "Noticed, did you? Excellent."

"Oh, you!"

* * *

 ** _25 March 1997_**

She found the books quite by accident. They'd been Disillusioned and tucked away at the end of a shelf. After a quick look about, she had simply dispelled the Disillusionment and made them visible once more.

And her jaw dropped. Dark Magic. Sirius had books on Dark Magic in his library. These weren't dusty tomes left from a long-ago organizational mess, either. These volumes—though old and seeming to emanate something heavy and arcane—were free of dust and all other small signs of neglected literature. No peeling binding. No disintegration.

They'd been read. Recently.

Hermione hefted the top book, _Magick Moste Evile_ by Godelot, and took it to her work table. If Sirius came looking for her, she'd ask him about it. But first, she'd read it. Because if they had books like this, she wanted to know why. Perhaps Sirius was helping Harry prepare for the Third Task.

She didn't want to go into that at a disadvantage!

One section in the book seemed to be more rifled around the edges than the others. The pages had been touched more often; it was a phenomenon that she saw often in library books, _Terrestre_ or Magical. The most dangerous thing mentioned there was something called a "horcrux" but there was remarkably little information about it. Still it was in a section called Soul Magic.

She frowned, made a note of the book and the page number, closed it, and took it back to exchange it for another that had been in that Disillusioned pile. She wasn't sure what criteria she should use to look at another, but decided that Soul Magic might be too dark even for the Third Task. Still, it was tickling her mind, and she wondered if there was anything in that one, _there_ , that would relate to the Earth Magics she had to know. She could learn a bit extra, impress during the BÉMAs, and—

The new book was in her hand almost without her thinking of it. _Practices of Life and Death_ by G. R. Brindel, as translated by Iain Arno. She pursed her lips and was already flipping to the index by the time she'd reached her table. Finding the most worn pages, she slowly turned to them and stared. There was that word again: horcrux.

She was reading up on what, by Morgana and all the Fae, constituted a horcrux when Harry Black burst in to her temporary sanctuary.

"Hey, Hermione! Luna just sent her Patronus to me for the very first time! It's a hare!"

She blinked at him and shook herself free from the near-thrall the book was holding over her. "What? Luna? Well, that's fine, now, isn't it?"

He laughed a little. "What is it you're studying for those exams of yours, Hermione?" He pulled the book to him and went absolutely sheet-white. "Merlin's bloody broom, where'd you find this?"

"In your library. What're you studying for the Task, Harry?"

"Not this, I can tell you that. The Blacks, though, have always had . . . a dark past, Hermione. Maybe we should put this away."

"Put what away?" Sirius whipped off a cloak that evidently lent him invisibility and, though really uncomfortable to think she'd been spied on, Hermione shoved the book in his direction. He, too, went sheet-white. "This. This. You can't be reading this, Hermione. You can't."

"You have," she countered.

"Dad. If she found this much, she might be able to help."

Hermione felt both a fierce curiosity and a deep dread tear at her insides at the same time. Trying to ask, she found her throat was tight, so she coughed a bit to clear it. "Help? Help with what?"

Harry scratched at the strange, light scar on his forehead. "It's kind of a long story."

"Sirius?"

Lord Black stood straight, his aspect entirely forbidding for a brief, chilling moment. Hermione felt her chest grow cold at the look, but she refused to back down and made herself meet it. She had come to care for this man—a great deal—but if he couldn't treat her as an equal . . .

He scowled and Summoned the book to himself. "It's not the kind of thing they teach at Beauxbatons, Hermione."

"But it's what is taught in the House of Black?"

When he laughed—a hard, dry sound—she relaxed a bit and caught Harry's gaze with her own. "It's a dark house," he reminded her.

"It does seem to have its shadows."

Sirius sighed and tossed the book back to her. "Fine. Let me get Remus and we'll talk."

Harry perked up. "Finally!"

* * *

 _A/N: So...things are getting a bit serious, no? Next chapter: Dark Matter. And if you want a peek into it, you must cast the revealing charm: **Aparecium**. It works only for those who are signed in and accepting PMs! _


	19. Chapter Twelve: Dark Matter

_**A/N:** Welcome to all those new to the AU. :) Hearty thanks to everyone who is reading, adding this fic to your lists, and especially to everyone reviewing! Hat tip today goes to **Funnygurl143** , who caught review #900! That is so cool!_

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: Dark Matter**

 _ **25 March, 1997, Farecliffe Hall Library**_

Ominous was the word Hermione found in her mind most easily. The gathering around the table in the library had an ominous feel to it. The old books in the center of the table had most of her attention, but she did spare some for Sirius and Remus and their interaction.

Not because she was worried about anything reappearing in terms of them getting back together as a couple. She'd read about werewolves and their mates as soon as she'd had access to a library after Sirius told her what he and Remus been to one another. Remus was now mated and was guaranteed to be faithful to his mate. And Sirius gave every indication of being interested in Hermione, so that wasn't a concern.

She just wanted to see how they were handling what was, essentially, a crisis. A family crisis.

Remus Lupin caught her eye and offered her a small, strained smile. "It's not that we don't trust you, Miss Granger . . ."

"Hermione." She tried to roll her eyes at him.

He nodded and tapped a finger on the top of the table. "Hermione. It's just that there's a great deal here that's dangerous."

"She's faced a dragon, Remus," Harry said, pushing a book with his wand. "So have I. And I know bloody well there's a lot you're not telling me."

This made Hermione even more edgy and she scooted her chair a little closer to Harry's. It was as if there were sides, for the moment. She and Harry versus Sirius and Remus. "I am trustworthy, you know," she said after a stalemated moment. "I mean, this is Dark, and I appreciate that. Do you want a vow? I can take a vow."

"Hermione, no." Sirius leaned back, seeming defeated but not looking at her at all. "It's Dark and I'd rather protect the pair of you from it, that's all. Harry, it's connected with the murder, you know? I don't want you to have to—"

Hermione watched, heart lightening a bit, as Harry sighed and pushed away from the table to rise and walk slowly to Sirius's side. She and Remus rose likewise, moving away to give the others privacy.

"I will take a vow," she told the sandy-haired man as they lingered between bookshelves meters away from the Black men. "I want to help if I can, and it's clear that this is a going concern for all of you. I've got knowledge of Earth Magics and a good head for connecting pieces."

"I know you do, lass," he acknowledged with a nod. He glanced quickly at the others, still immersed in their private conversation. Evidently making a decision, he took a quick breath and met her gaze with a fierce urgency. "How might a wizard live after he's been killed?"

Taken aback by the tone of the question, Hermione pursed her lips in thought. She considered what's she'd learnt at Beauxbatons, what she'd read in the Disillusioned texts. "The wizard would have to, to what, store his spirit, his, his soul, wouldn't he? So that when his body dies, his soul lives on? Souls have a great deal of significance in the deeper magics," she murmured, partly to herself.

A sharp sound—the flat violence of a hand slapping wood—interrupted her thought processes. "What the bloody hell are you doing, Moony? She is not to be exposed to this! She—I—they—"

" _We_ , Dad. We _got_ it." Harry moved to stand between Hermione and his father and Hermione both appreciated his wish to nonverbally lessen Sirius's impact and was annoyed that he felt he had to do so. Men. They never got over the idea that a woman didn't handle opposition well. "I saw those Dark Marks, remember. So did she. And Karkaroff said they were getting darker."

"Did, did someone put their soul into those Marks?" Hermione wondered, thinking that would be a really diffuse spell to have to maintain. "That would mean that every time, that that one who hit my shield, he died, didn't he? And then the one that Padfoot handled, he would have taken part of a spirit too, wouldn't he?"

Sirius swore under his breath and crossed the library away from them, talking to himself, gesturing like a man under so much stress that he might break. Remus made an uncomfortable sound in his chest, Harry just scowled and crossed his arms.

Hermione decided she'd be the one to calm the lord of the manor. Someone had to, right?

After crossing gazes with Harry and Remus, she smoothed her hands over her jeans, set her lips, and strode purposefully across the library. Clouds were moving outside, darkening the natural light, which might have felt as ominous as she had earlier. But instead, Hermione felt sheltered by the relative shadow. "Sirius." She kept her voice soft, not at all patronizing, but gentle. "Please don't be angry with me." She didn't think he was, really, but she was trying to calm him, to redirect this anxiety or whatever she had to do to soothe the jagged parts that were clearly upsetting him.

He turned to her, his eyes sharp and bright and worried, in a way she hadn't seen since the night after the attack in Hogsmeade. "I'm not angry with you, love. I'm not." He shook himself—as he sometimes did when he felt he had to, in the manner that reminded her of his Animagus alter-ego—before moving close to her and taking her hands in his. "I'm just . . ." He blew out a breath that carried the scent of ginger and tea. "I'm concerned. For my son. For you. For all of this. There's . . . there was a war, you know."

"The Blood Purity War? The one that ended when Voldemort—" She couldn't say it.

"Yes." He squeezed her fingers and held her gaze. She paid close attention, hoping she could understand how to best help. "The men with the Dark Marks, the Death Eaters, they never went away, but the Marks faded, then. They've been gone or mostly gone—according to men I know who were among them but aren't any longer—since 1981. Seeing them return, we know . . . we feel, anyway . . . that Voldemort might be trying to return."

"So he has hidden his soul somewhere. In a horcrux or something?"

He stared at her, hard, his lips pressed tight together until she cocked her head. Then, he sighed and tugged on her to gather her against his chest. "You're incredible, you know?"

She relaxed and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her fingers into the tight, hard muscles of his back as if she could massage his worries away. "Well, I have my moments. So, what is it we don't know that you want us not to know?"

"What, have you been practicing Legilimancy interrogation techniques?" He laughed softly into her hair. Behind them, she heard soft chuckles and the atmosphere in the room eased considerably. "All right. I trust you, you know that, right?" His arms tightened about her and she nodded against his chest. "All right, then."

He fell into the nearest chair, pulling her atop his lap and beckoning to Remus and Harry to pull up chairs away from the table. "So. Yes. We are trying to figure things out. Harry, a horcrux is a—"

"An artifact used to store a piece of a person's soul. Yes, I know," Harry said flatly, clearly impatient.

"Created usually after the sacrificial murder of another human being," Hermione added.

Remus, though his eyes were troubled, attempted a smile. "Why are we even here?" he inquired with a rhetorical air.

Sirius rubbed his face in Hermione's hair. "We believe Voldemort made horcruxes, yes. And Harry, I believe one of them was you."

Ice seemed to coat Hermione's heart as Harry exploded.

* * *

Her hair was an orange-gold shade where the rays of the setting sun nestled into the heavy curls. Sirius buried his nose into the familiar, riotous mass and inhaled deeply of her. Her scent, her utter calm, her good sense.

Whilst Harry seemed to lose his mind, whilst Remus ranted that secrets had been kept even from _him_ , whilst Sirius had felt compelled to defend himself for the indefensible, Hermione had held still, watching, chewing on her lush lower lip until he was sure she'd bruise.

"So," she'd said, speaking quietly even as all the testosterone in the library roiled and frothed, "you're saying that Voldemort left some of his soul in Harry that was cast out or otherwise destroyed upon his adoption. There is evidence that he left another part of it in a diary that you know of. And he possessed a teacher. Well, that's three, isn't it? And all three have been—"

"No, wait," Harry had said, collapsing to meet Hermione's eyes though she was apparently staring at the floor. "There have to be more if the Dark Mark's coming back, right, Dad?"

As this had been the most polite question his son had directed his way in several minutes, Sirius had nodded and shared a look with Remus. "That's what we had thought, son. Dumbledore has indicated that this is something to be concerned over, and he said he was going to speak with Lady Longbottom. Has Neville said anything to you?"

Harry shook his head and Sirius sighed. Hermione took a couple of quick breaths, as if she'd speak, but then she remained silent. Remus flickered his fingers. "Miss Granger?"

"Hermione," she said, sounding put-upon, but in an amused way. The way Lily had done when Sirius had been teasing her shortly before her marriage to Prongs. "Three is a number of great power, magically, of course. _Three_ might be all if all the horcruxes weren't destroyed. Were they? The Dark Marks might be resurfacing if even one of them is still whole."

Sirius felt his skin crawl even as he flushed with chagrin. "Well, we don't know how to do that, exactly," he admitted to her. Harry bounced to his feet, eyes alight, but then he winced and gripped his wrist with a hiss. Sirius nudged Hermione off his lap and moved to kneel next to Harry. "Son?" Harry's wrist had a band of fiery red around it that faded even as he watched. "Bloody hell, Harry James. What did you do? An Unbreakable Vow?" He was stunned and his gut clenched in fear and worry. "What did you do?"

"Shite. Yeah. I can't say, Dad. I can't."

Sirius rose to his feet, tugging Harry up with him. "Who did you make a vow to? _That_ you should be able to tell me, right?" A thought occurred to him and he calmed himself. "Luna? Did you and Luna . . .?"

"What? No, Dad!" Sirius nodded, frowning, but he didn't know what to think as a result. Harry started to sweat a little as he continued to rub at his wrist. "I know how to destroy a horcrux," he muttered, not meeting his eye.

"What?!" Remus and Hermione surrounded them in a heartbeat. A heartbeat Sirius wasn't too sure he would get to repeat, as his heart sort of stuttered in his chest.

Hermione grabbed his hand and he did, strangely enough, calm down immediately. After inhaling deeply, he waited until Harry was focused on him again. "You know how to destroy a horcrux." A cold place started to grow in his chest. "How do you figure that, son?" Had he been reading books from the Grimmauld Place library? Had he and Neville—Merlin, what a thought—done some extracurricular experimentation? Had he seen a diary like the one that had infiltrated Ginevra Weasley's mind, for which she still required therapy and treatment?

Harry hissed again and rubbed at his wrist. "I can't tell you, Dad. I can . . . maybe . . . say . . . I did it before. Bloody hell, this thing is particular." Glaring at his wrist, he blew out a breath. "Damned vow."

Hermione hummed under her breath. "So, can you not ever tell us? Can we figure out how to play twenty questions or something so that you don't die?"

Sirius chuckled, appreciating his witch more every hour he spent with her. After pressing a kiss to her temple, he relaxed a bit and everyone resumed their seats. "Well, son? Can you answer Hermione's question?"

Gray-green eyes looked a bit hopeful, which eased Sirius's heart. "Actually, I will be able to tell. We'll be able. Nev and me. But not now."

"So, conditions must be met," Hermione surmised. "Fine. Can we meet them sooner rather than later to take care of the horcruxes?"

"I think so. Can you get dispensation, Dad, for Neville and me to get our Apparating Licenses?"

* * *

"So, if you lay the Runes out in this pattern, watch how they seem to soak in magical energy from the air around them," Remus Lupin murmured as they stood out in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch at Farecliffe. "I learnt this well after leaving Hogwarts, understand, but it's proven . . . efficacious, over the years."

Hermione had her Biro and notepad out, for it was easiest to take notes in the _Terrestre_ manner when one was not at a table with a place to rest ink pots. "Oh, that's lovely, Mister Lupin. And it's for warding during a full moon, right?"

"It's _Remus_ ," he said, in the continuation of their teasing name-game. "And yes! How did you know?"

"Well, set between the Mastery and Chaos runes, you've got that one, there, yes?" She pointed and it glowed again. "The sequence and placement are sure for a warding. Is that what you'll be able to do come September? You and others who are . . . afflicted? Sirius mentioned Reserves for the lycanthropes."

He laughed with an air of disbelief. "You're brilliant, Hermione. And correct, as well." He grinned mischievously. "Have you worked at all on your Animagus form for your practical exams? I wonder if you'd be an owl, or a canine, like Padfoot?"

"Honestly, I haven't had time, what with one thing and another," she replied, not meeting that bright green gaze. "You know."

His chuckle was entirely knowing. "Oh, I remember how Padfoot can be when distracting the exam-intensive." She blushed and he laughed for quite some time at her expense.

Still, she smiled. It was good to be included. "So, scatter them and let me see if I can duplicate your work, _Mister_ Lupin."

"It's _Remus_!"

* * *

Sirius grinned. He'd been working on this for a while, now, the staged Potions Identification Practicum. He had made one for Harry before O.W.L.s, and thought it would befit him—as a good host, of course!—to set one up for Hermione. She had, after all, consented to spend valuable revising time at his estate.

"All right. What you are supposed to do," he told her that morning, "is identify the potion in each cauldron. Then, you recount with as much detail as you can what its purpose is, the ingredients that go into it, and the brewing process."

Hermione's blew a breath out through her lips, the motion of which reminded him of when she'd blown him a kiss the night before, and he covered up his smile with his hand, in case she mistook what he was smiling about.

"All right. May I do all this on paper or is this an oral exam?"

He stared at her long enough that her lips twitched to a tiny smile. He nodded. "Oh, I like the idea of oral," he said, with an entire _trunk_ full of innuendo.

Her cheeks flared with a dusky rose color. "Well, it's not my best thing, but I'll try to please," she countered with innuendo of her own.

Abandoning his professorial role for a moment, he took her hand in his. "You make me feel like a teenager," he confessed quietly. "Young and finding . . . joy. Everywhere. Excitement. Anticipation."

She brought his hand up and brushed his palm with her lips. He shivered just a bit. "Well, you make me feel . . . like a romance heroine," she said. And even though she'd mentioned that before, hearing it in person was a hot jolt, straight to his groin.

He swallowed. "Well, thank you." It was his turn to blow out a breath and he did so. And decided to practice his French. " _Shall we begin, Mademoiselle Granger?_ "

" _Oui_ , _Professor Black_."

There were ten potions in the lab he kept at Farecliffe. He still brewed Moony's Wolfsbane for him, even though his mate could do it as well. No longer needed on the full moons, Sirius still liked to be able to contribute to Remus's creature comforts when he could.

"This one is Wolfsbane," Hermione said with a nod toward the first cauldron. "The blue smoke did give it away." She grinned saucily at him. "And I guessed you'd choose it as it's one you brew on the regular for Mister Lupin." She then rattled off the components and drawn-out brewing process before moving on.

At length, she reached the final cauldron. The pearlescent sheen on the surface of the potion would make it an easy identification, but Sirius really wanted her to tell him what it smelled like, for her.

When he'd finished brewing it, he'd smelt it and his mouth watered. Honey, cinnamon, apples, and something underlying all of it that he'd recognized as being Hermione's personal scent. Her taste. That feminine flavor that curled under her tongue and sifted through to her skin so that he could inhale her whenever he was with her.

"Amortentia." She slid him a sideways glance. "Very nice, Professor Black." Shaking her head, she smiled a little and began to tell him the ingredients in the potion—something at which she excelled for each of the cauldrons that morning—and the basic brewing process. "It is, though, a love potion and I personally cannot condone the use of love potions. Anything that influences someone's free will is not to be borne."

"I absolutely agree, Hermione," Sirius assured her. "But." She waited, brows raised. "You have to know I have to ask you what it smells like to you."

"Are we done with our practicum for the day, Professor?"

Taken aback at her blatant refusal to address the topic of the potion's scent, he nodded. Hermione unbound her braided hair so that it fell in the heavy mass he'd grown quite fond of down her back. He watched as she inhaled deeply . . . watched quite carefully, feeling far too interested in how her breasts filled out the lightweight gray jumper she wore. He heard her sigh a little and say, "Good." Then, she approached him and slid her hands unexpectedly up his arms. Smiling, he embraced her until she leaned back against his arms and met his gaze with her own. "My Amortentia smells like leather, wind, bourbon, and aconite." Her cheeks darkened briefly with a blush. "Does that answer your questions, Lord Black?"

What could he say to that? Nothing, but he was Sirius Black, so he merely smiled and gathered her up even more closely to himself, drinking in the delectable taste of his soulmate.

Which reminded him . . .

After nuzzling her throat, he took a quick breath. "I recently was given a new potion, but I don't know how to brew it."

She hummed and slid her hands into his hair. "Luna's potion? She showed me. It's amber in color and she claimed it would help in finding a soulmate."

"All right, I didn't know you'd been, er, informed."

Hermione slid her hands off his skin and placed them instead on his all-too-covered shoulders. "Luna has information on many things, Sirius, but really. A potion to discover a soulmate?"

"You don't have to look so dismissive," he retorted, keeping her in the circle of his arms to make sure she didn't get away. "It's a Druidic potion. Keyed in to the moon."

"And the incantation is in Irish," she added in a pedantic tone. Frowning, she asked, "Do you really think it's something that can be used to find a soulmate? Isn't it just a sham? Snake oil or something?"

"Snake oil can be highly efficacious," he reminded her, troubled but trying to keep it light. She'd be returning to her parents the following day and he didn't want to end her visit on a bad note. "Do you think there's another way to find a soulmate?"

She pressed her lips together and studied his face. He tried to keep his expression from any negative thoughts. Finally, she said, "I don't know if I believe in the idea of a soulmate, you know? I believe in love," she added softly. "I believe in forever. I believe in working at a relationship and fighting for something you believe in. But a soulmate?"

He felt something ache in his chest to hear her say so. "Did you believe in magic before you found out you were a witch? I grew up with it, but I understand many Muggle-born are taken by surprise."

"Well, no, I didn't. And I can't deny that it exists, of course." She quirked a brow at him as if to ask, _Your point?_

"So if magic is real, why _not_ a soulmate?"

After opening her mouth a couple of times, she buried her face against him and he kissed the top of her head. "What does the potion do?" she asked, her voice soft and a bit resigned.

"Well, she told me that you would see your soulmate if you took it. She offered it to me on the night of the Yule Ball." He chuckled at the memory. "She said I was lonely."

"Oh."

"I'm not, by the way, lonely any longer." He nudged her head up and kissed her. Softly, with hope and perhaps even a bit of persuasion that he tried to impart to her. She tasted like honey to him. Hot and sweet and utterly fulfilling.

When they resumed nuzzling one another instead, she murmured, "I'm not lonely either. You took this potion, didn't you?" She didn't look at him.

"I did."

Her breath caught and she made as if to push away from him. "Who did you see, Sirius Black? Was it, was it Remus?" He could sense the effort she was making to be cool and calm about it. He smiled and shook his head. "Then who?"

"I saw _you_ , Hermione Granger. You're my soulmate."

* * *

 _A/N: The Unbreakable Vow moment is in the vignette for Harry's Fourth Year, if you were looking for it._

 _And if you want to look ahead instead, the revealing charm is **Aparecium**! As always, it only works for those who are signed in and accepting PMs!_

 _See you Monday, when there is Division Before Unity..._


	20. Chapter Thirteen: Division Before Unity

_A/N: Hello and Happy First Day of Spring! Welcome everyone, new readers and old friends, to the AU. It's always a delight to interact with you all. So many folks were eager to find out what Hermione's reaction would be to Sirius's Big Reveal in the last chapter. This will give you, well, some idea..._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: Division Before Unity**

 ** _4 April 1997, Hogwarts_**

" _Muffliato_. Sirius Black."

Hermione held the obsidian Grim and waited, hoping he was available to answer her. It was late at night, so he should be home from the Wizengamot. She smiled wistfully at the two-way-wireless construct, flipping it over on its back so she could caress the slippery slides of stone that were carved to look like belly fur. And she blushed a bit; how "little girl" was that? She was fairly certain a member of the Wizengamot would not be rubbing, say, a stone otter on _its_ belly.

"Sirius Black?" she murmured, trying again. Perhaps he was working late or out with Remus? Or maybe he was doing some more research about the horcrux problem.

Frowning, she turned the Grim over and stared at it. Was he sulking? Biting her lip, she realized he might be; she hadn't been terribly accepting of . . . things.

 _"_ _I saw_ you _, Hermione Granger. You're my soulmate."_

 _He'd stated this with firm conviction, looking at her with affection and maybe something more, that day at Farecliffe Hall. Then he'd drawn a lock of her hair through his fingers, caressing it as she watched his face._

 _Soulmate. She opted to translate this into a lexicon that she could rationalize. Did this mean he loved her? Well, maybe not yet, but that was all right. He felt like he belonged with her. He was thinking of their relationship—with which she was entirely in agreement—and working on it together. All that was good, but . . ._

 _"_ _You're sure it wasn't a compulsion?" Her whisper had been reluctant._

 _"_ _No. I almost didn't take the potion, even." Cupping her face, he stared at her, his eyes shifting as if to memorize each small span of skin, the curl to her eyelashes, the arch of her brows. It had been intense but also strangely comforting. "See, I wasn't lonely anymore, as I said, and I wouldn't have wanted to see anyone but you."_

 _Well, of course she'd kissed him. And if that had been where the discussion ended—her hands under his professorial robes, his fingertips sliding under the waistband of her jeans, the afternoon would have been perfect. He'd tasted amazing, and she had his scents all around her. Leather. Wind. Bourbon. Aconite. Sirius._

 _"_ _She brewed some more," he murmured against her skin, his breath hot. "So you can see as well."_

 _Hermione went stiff, then, within his arms. "I don't doubt that you saw me, you know."_

 _With narrowed eyes, he asked, "So . . . why do I feel like you're resisting this?"_

 _How could she explain it? "I'm not resisting_ you _," she answered with measured tones. "I just don't know why you want me to take it." She smiled a little, hoping to calm him and bring the light back to his brilliant eyes. "You have to know, Lord Black, that I accept this. I do. Taking a potion won't make that any clearer to me." She'd fisted her hands in his black robes with their red and gold accents. "You're amazing. You make me feel amazing. And if I can be that for you . . . that's perfect."_

 _His expression softened and he slid his lips warmly over her temple. She had sighed, hoping that he'd been persuaded of her sincerity. For she was utterly sincere._

 _And she was sincerely not interested in taking a potion and saying an incantation to seek her soulmate. What if there was something amiss? What if her results were different? What if there was more to this that was arbitrary rather than ordained?_

 _Magic made mistakes. Magic allowed mistakes to be made._

 _"_ _I'd really like you to take it," Sirius had said, his tone cajoling but also a bit imperious. "It's not what you think it is; you can get insight and—"_

 _"_ _Insight? What did you see?" Panic rose quickly in her chest. The kind of feeling that might happen during the nightmare of being unexpectedly naked in a roomful of strangers._

 _He tried to explain, but his words only made her feel exposed. She'd pulled away from him and declared she needed to make sure she had all her notes in order before she packed._

He hadn't been very happy, escorting her to London.

He might still be unhappy with her, days later.

He didn't answer her via the obsidian Grim and, after several minutes, Hermione tucked the charmed sculpture away. She had exams approaching and the Third Task after that. There was much to do.

* * *

 ** _6 April 1997_**

"By Merlin's bloody broom, Padfoot! Go see the girl. Use the otter. Do something!" Remus tossed back a shot of firewhisky at the Three Broomsticks. "We're close enough that you could just walk on past the Shack and ask her to a pub for a pint. Just do something, all right?"

"I've tried the . . . PaStoneUs."

Remus snorted. "That is _not_ a good name for that thing. You know, you should ask the twins. They'd come up with something catchy."

Sirius leveled his best mate a look. "And then they'd steal the idea, pervert it somehow—you know they would!—and sell it for ten Galleons at their shop." Remus chuckled and made a conciliatory gesture. "She hasn't even answered the bloody thing," he admitted staring at his drink. He lifted it and held it between himself and the nearest candle, watching the flame's image expand and contract through the glass and alcohol.

"Where is it?" Remus asked, sounding resigned and holding out his hand.

Sirius eyed his friend narrowly. "What're you going to do?"

"Call her. Hand it over, Pads." Rosmerta dropped by their table just then, wisely not trying to make conversation as she checked their drinks and left them with an order of shepherd's pie. The universal dish at any British pub, Sirius knew from wide experience. Remus thanked her and, after she was out of earshot, he held his hand out again. "C'mon, Pads. Hand it over."

"Fine." He fished the otter from his robes and gave it to Remus before getting to his feet. "But I'm leaving."

"No. You're not." Remus tugged him back down without even leaving his seat, the prat. "You'll sit here and we'll hammer this thing out."

"Violence, Moony? That's not your usual approach." Still, he stayed whilst Remus studied the otter carefully by candlelight. "You just say her name," he muttered.

"I know. I'm just wondering where the sound comes from."

"Well, not its arse, you berk!"

Smiling and shaking his head, Remus sighed and held the otter up in front of his face. "Hermione Granger."

Sirius held his breath, staring at the obsidian sculpture. He half wanted it to remain silent, to show Remus that no, Hermione was purposefully ignoring him or had tossed the thing away. But more than that, he wanted to hear her voice again. He missed her and hated this at-odds feeling he'd had lodged in his chest since she'd refused to take Luna's potion. She hadn't denied him nor their bond—which had pleased and gratified him—but she hadn't wanted to explore it on her end, which made him wonder how much of her acceptance was just to keep the peace and how much of it was true belief in his claim of her being his soulmate?

Why didn't she want to see things through his eyes, as he had through hers?

"Hello? Who is this? It's _not_ Lord Black."

It was her voice, albeit through the odd diffusion of obsidian, and Sirius found his entire attention poised on the black rock his best friend held between two large, scarred hands.

"No, Miss Granger, it's Remus."

"It's _Hermione_ ," the young woman stated in that same aggrieved tone she'd used at Farecliffe Hall. The sound had both men smiling and meeting one another's eyes. "Hello, Remus. How are you this evening?"

Sirius relaxed in his chair, the tension in his body easing in a breath as he heard her words. Remus sent him a look that said, _See? I told you_ , before he spoke aloud. "Doing quite well, Hermione. How is your revising coming along?"

"Quite well, all things being told, but how did you get the, er, thing?"

"See, Pads, she can't come up with a name, either," Remus remarked.

"He's with you, then?" Her voice was strained and thin and it made Sirius's heart hurt a bit to hear it thus. "So he's not injured? Hasn't lost his hands, perhaps? What about his voice? Does _that_ still work?"

Remus's brows shot into his forehead, but amusement danced in his eyes. Sirius scowled at him and shook his head. He wasn't going to answer her.

"He is indeed with me, _mademoiselle_. You've driven the man to drink, Hermione. I really thought he'd got over that years ago. What's your secret?"

"My marvelous powers of defiance, perhaps. I've tried to talk to him, Remus. He just hasn't answered the blo—er, thing. I thought maybe he was sulking."

"Oh, you've got him down right and tight there, Hermione. Nicely done."

Sirius had had enough. "Give me that."

Remus ignored him, bringing the otter next to his chest. And though he spoke to Hermione, his eyes were on Sirius. "What are you doing right now, Miss Granger? Might you receive a guest at the _Maison de Beauxbatons_?"

"Your French is execrable, Moony," Sirius muttered at the same time Hermione made a negative sound through the otter.

"Well, it is a Sunday night and I'm legally an adult. I could have someone escort me somewhere if I'll be back by Madame's curfew."

"How about half an hour at the Three Broomsticks?"

Sirius winced; had she even been to Hogsmeade since the Death Eater attack? Harry had said that the excursions had been canceled for the rest of the year. Rosmerta had been more than happy to have their custom, to be sure.

"I can do that. See you there. You _will_ be there, Remus, right?"

Something in Remus's expression—a quick flare of mischief, followed by frustration—told Sirius that Remus had perhaps planned to retire to the room he'd rented for the weekend upstairs at the inn. But he sighed and said, "I'll be here, Hermione. Won't leave you alone with the big, bad Grim."

She giggled, then, and Sirius smiled. It was entirely involuntary.

"Thank you, Remus. See you soon."

Sirius started, not quite half an hour later, to hear his son's voice calling through the inn. "Dad! What on earth are you doing up here?"

Rosmerta greeted the lad and brought him—and Hermione—to the table Sirius had claimed with Remus. "Harry? What are _you_ doing here? Why aren't you at school?"

"I needed a chaperone," Hermione said, stepping out from behind him. "He said he'd help a Champion out." She and Harry exchanged wryly humorous smiles that—for the briefest moment—had Sirius feeling a bit envious. He knew that Harry was in love with Miss Lovegood. He knew that Hermione believed she was his soulmate. But he'd missed her and the ease she demonstrated with his son was a bit, well, odd.

"And she told me you'd been _sulking_ , Dad," Harry said, his tone one of clear admonishment.

Remus chortled, all but spewing his drink over the table. "Nailed it in one, Miss Granger."

"I have not," Sirius retorted, moving over to make room for them at the table. "She won't answer me."

"Oh, bloody hell—sorry, Hermione. But really, you two. Fix it. Moony? C'mon, let's order me up something. Is there chocolate?"

Sirius rolled his eyes when Remus and Harry left the table, but then he turned to Hermione, who was sitting in wary dignity beside him. He bypassed the whole soulmate thing and asked, "Are you all right? Being here?"

She relaxed a bit, leaning forward to reclaim the otter from where Remus had left it. "I am, thank you. I'm glad Harry was with me, though. Had a bit of a tense moment, there, after I Apparated us to the station."

"Remus shouldn't have—"

"I offered to come here, remember?" She left off petting—petting!—the otter and looked Sirius in the eye. Her gaze was steady if a bit cautious. He could live with that. Then, it dropped. "So why didn't you answer me, all those times I called you with the Grim. Thing?"

"I didn't hear you," he told her honestly. "I didn't have it on me all the time." He sighed and owned up to what he considered his largest fault. "I was sulking."

She flashed him a grin. "I knew you were."

"Yeah. So. I'll try to stop. I've missed you." He smoothed a hand over her hair, which was in a tight braid.

"I've missed you as well." Reaching up, she took his hand in both of hers. "All right then. I need to know. If I'm your soulmate—and I believe that's what you saw—why do you feel like you need me to go through the same ritual? It's not as if I'd have a different soulmate than you, right?" She bit her lip and studied his face, all while caressing his hand in a way that would have been very distracting were he not so intent upon her words.

"That's not why," he murmured. "I want you to have the same opportunity to see with my eyes as I had with yours. It was . . . for all that the moments were fleeting . . . quite moving, you know? To be honest," he said, sighing, "I rather dread it, because I have some idea of some things you might see, but—" His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he cupped her face with his free hand, shifting around as he did so for better ease of movement. "But I want that for you. For us. I know it made you uncomfortable and, later, if you want, I can tell you what I saw and you can talk about those times with me. More insight, yeah?"

She smiled and leaned into his hand before turning her head to press a light kiss on the meat of his palm. He watched, calming a bit as she closed her eyes. "All right. But I don't want to do it alone. You said the corresponding phase of the moon, and the next time that phase falls for me will be on the third of May. Can you manage to be with me when I do the ritual and all? It'll be a Saturday night. I'll get permission from Madame."

He couldn't stop his grin. "I'd be honored, _mademoiselle_."

When they kissed, he didn't know who moved first; it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that it was her. The taste of her, the small sounds she made, the way her hands worked themselves into his hair. _Her_.

"I'd say 'Get a room, Dad'," Harry said some time later, interrupting them with a thump on the table. "But, I think it'd be better not. No offense, Hermione."

She was blushing when she rose from the table. "None taken. Will you escort me back to Madame, Harry?"

Sirius stood and hugged his son in that man-to-man way they had adopted in recent years. "Keep her safe, yeah?"

"Between my broom and her wings," Harry answered lightly, "we're safe as houses."

* * *

 ** _25 April 1997_**

" _Oh, Hermione! Those are lovely!_ "

" _He is courting you in earnest, is he not?_ "

" _How romantic he is!_ "

" _How handsome he is!_ "

" _Have you seen his . . . library . . . lately?_ " This last came from Sophie, who wiggled blond brows suggestively. All the girls laughed with much amusement and little decorum as Hermione blushed as she buried her face in the bouquet of flowers.

Daffodils. Forsythia. Jonquil. Yellow flowers, by and large, surrounded by a ring of red roses.

"Look, it's all red and gold. Those are the colors of the Gryffindor House here at Hogwarts!" Yvette said this in English and she would know; she and Neville were still a couple, months after that first disastrous date in Hogsmeade.

Hermione ignored the reference to Sirius's "library" and moved on to Yvette's comment. " _I believe Lord Black was in that House as well, when he went to school._ "

"Very romantic!"

" _I'm going to put these in water, please excuse me_ ," she said, determined to find a book on the language of flowers.

Later, with her flowers in a vase that Madame Maxime had conjured from somewhere, she sat with a book in her lap. One of many editions of _The Language of Flowers_ , she was sure.

 _Daffodils_. They signified a variety of things, but Hermione hoped Sirius was meaning Regard or The Sun is Always Shining When I'm with You. Both lovely sentiments. What if he meant Unrequited Love, though? How should she respond?

 _Jonquils_. Love me. Desire. Affection Returned. Oh, now all of these did indeed make her heart pound and her cheeks redden.

 _Forsythia_. Anticipation. That had her breathing erratically, and Hermione was definitely a bit embarrassed even though alone. How did that man do this to her when he wasn't even in the room?

 _Red roses_. Pure and Lovely. Well, that was charming of him, wasn't it?

"Is there anything that man doesn't do brilliantly?"

She had to send him a response, so she studied the flowers and chose one of each to return to him in a posy. Arranged and tied with a ribbon. Not of Beauxbaton blue, but instead in a ribbon both silver and black. This required some careful transfiguration, but she managed it. Silver for feminine energy and ties to the moon, and black for, well, his name. They looked very well together.

It didn't take her long to take her posy to the owlery with directions to find Sirius Black.

* * *

 ** _3 May 1997, Hogwarts_**

Luna and Harry met Hermione in the Great Hall. "Here," the blonde said, passing a phial to her and one to Harry. The phial was about four-fifths full with an amber potion. "I'll be with Harry and you'll be with his dad."

Hermione would have met Harry's gaze, but he was staring at Luna. "Thank you. Are we going to the Lord's Suite?" Sirius had said that's where they'd be, but he hadn't factored Harry and Luna into the evening. "Harry?"

He blinked and blushed whilst Luna laughed softly. "Sorry," Harry said. "Um, what?"

"Lord's Suite? Shall we go?"

"I have to gather a robe for Harry," Luna said with a knowing smile. "I'll meet you outside of it soon."

Hermione didn't know if Luna had Seen that she, Hermione, wanted to talk to Harry alone or if her absence was serendipitous. She didn't bother worrying about it and instead cast _Muffliato_ —her favorite new spell—about them as they paced slowly out of the Great Hall.

"Did you get your Apparating License yet?"

Harry darted a look about and nodded. "I did, yeah. But," he hissed and grabbed at his wrist. "It's not enough. Neville has to get his as well."

They smiled politely at some students coming down the moving staircase before they braved it themselves. "So you can't tell me what the whole Vow was about, then?"

"I, I don't think so?"

Hermione grimaced as the staircase moved yet again, swinging in a different direction. She hated these stairs. "The conditions of it were that you couldn't tell until you both had your licenses?" She was making a chart in her head. He nodded. "And the vow had to do with something about destroying . . . those things." He nodded again as he rubbed at his wrist. "And you can't tell anyone?"

Harry frowned and she regretted asking him, but he was forming words without sound. _Dumbledore_. And he shook his head. _Longsomething_ , with another shake. _Dad_. "Can't," he said with a rasping breath. "Sorry."

"So we need to figure out how to get Neville licensed. Yesterday."

"We could kidnap Neville from his gran for a weekend . . ." Harry began before shaking his head. "No, he'd never do that. Lady Longbottom is a stickler for rules and such."

They sighed in tandem.

"What did the vow say? I mean, I know you can't tell me what you vowed not to tell me, but can you give me parameters?" The stairs moved again and they lurched, grabbing the stone banister before regaining their balance.

Harry swallowed and watched his wrist as they climbed slowly up the steps again. "We swore not to reveal . . . something . . . to those people or anyone else . . . until we had our licenses."

"Not to reveal something. All right."

"What are you thinking, Granger? Trying to get us killed?" Harry asked as the stairs stopped and they gained the desired landing.

"Never. Just trying to think creatively."

He laughed and clapped her shoulder briefly. "Well, you keep on doing that. Seems like whenever you do, you win."

It wasn't long until they were all gathered in the Lord's Suite, which provided two bedrooms for the evening, much to everyone's embarrassment except Luna's. "It's a private ritual, you know. Of course Hogwarts wants to make sure it's conducted properly." She smiled up at something only she could see, presumably, and Hermione could only acquiesce.

The world of Magic was rich in the unknown and unknowable.

Sirius escorted her to one room. He was dressed in what she termed his Wizengamot Wardrobe. Formal black robes with family crest, lined in Gryffindor crimson and black silk. His hair was loose but in no way could it be considered casual. He held out his hand to her and she went to him, standing by a window. "I did just this same thing," he whispered over her head, wrapping both arms around her. She sighed, her chest relaxing, releasing tensions she had been unaware she was holding. "I wondered if I should do this. If it would matter." His lips caressed her ear as he added, "Nothing will change for us, Hermione. Believe me. Even if you see something that frightens you or worries you; I'm still me. Can you trust that?"

"I trust you," she whispered back, gripping the potion phial securely in one hand whilst reaching up and back to drag furrows through his hair with the other. His sigh caressed her skin and she melted a bit. "I do, Sirius."

"All right then." After turning her about in his arms, he stared hard into her eyes before brushing his lips over her forehead. "Come on, then. You have the incantation?" At her nod, he led her to the bed, had her sit down, and proceeded to take off her shoes.

Her heart started pounding. _Wait, what is he doing?_ "S- Sirius?"

He grinned up at her, mischief in his eyes as he caressed her now-bare ankles. "Hmm?"

"What else is involved with this ritual?" Sex? Did sex happen? _No, he never mentioned that for him, but if he was here, and Sweet Circe, this bed was soft and welcoming, and_ —

"Just recite the incantation, drink the potion, then lay back and close your eyes." He stood then, and moved her about a bit so that she was further toward the center of the bed. "You're nervous? Why?"

She tried to laugh it away, but was afraid it didn't come off very well. "You, me, big comfy bed, you taking off my clothes . . . Can't _imagine_ why I'd be nervous, Sirius."

With a low laugh, he leaned down toward her. "New experiences make you nervous?"

Her mouth was dry and she fought the urge to cling to him, to pull him down next to her and just— "Yes," she managed to say.

His breath caught and he sat next to her, bringing his legs up into a cross-legged position that effectively defused the sexual tension he'd introduced to the room. "Well. I don't want to bring in too many new things at once, right? Let's stick with what we have for now." Wrapping one large hand around her ankle, he nodded at her. "So. Incantation, Hermione."

Inhaling deeply, she repeated the words of Irish Gaelic and then downed the potion. She tasted old wood, a hint of something fresh and spring-like. Nutmeg, as well. She wanted to ask but didn't want to interrupt the ritual with something trivial that could disrupt the order of magical revelation.

"Head on the pillow," Sirius murmured.

Nodding, she complied and closed her eyes.

 _She was hiding from an ancient house-elf who was muttering something under its breath._

 _She was on the Hogwarts Express, hearing a boy with glasses talk on at great length._

 _She was being threatened! Screamed at! Beaten!_

Though she was in the thrall of the ritual, Hermione still fought against the vision, fought to be free from the torment that afflicted the subject.

 _She was chasing down men in black cloaks, casting red spells with great power.  
_

 _She was kneeling, crying over the body of a man in a red jumper, fixing his glasses._

 _She held a baby, a baby who wanted his mum. She wept at the devastation._

 _She kissed Remus Lupin for the last time and her heart ached._

 _She saw a girl dressed in dragonhide warding a dragon and cringed to think she might have died._

 _She saw . . .? Staring into a mirror, trying to decide if Hermione would prefer Wizengamot robes or casual young dad. She glared at the reflection only to see . . ._

"It's you," she whispered, opening her eyes and dragging herself from what she'd seen. "It's you, Sirius. I saw you!"

He lunged for her, then, his body poised over hers, his eyes alight with joy and wonder and even awe. "Hermione. Told you." His smile delighted her heart.

"You did. Kiss me?"

He did, lowering himself slowly over her and she moaned to feel every bit of him that pressed into her. She parted her thighs so that he could settle solidly, so very solidly against her and it was his turn to moan. Thrusting against him, she cared nothing at all about the wrinkles to her clothes or the way her hair was surely a disaster by that time. All she cared about was him.

Her wand started to chime. Softly at first, but the small, silvery sound eventually interfered with the focus she was claiming on Sirius's mouth, his hands, the hard planes of his body, the sheer heat he caused to pool within her. "Oh, shut up," she whispered.

"What is that?" he asked, his breath ragged as he rested his head against her shoulder.

"Curfew alarm. I can—"

"No. I won't screw this up, Hermione. Nor give anyone reason to gossip. Well, more than they are already," he added as she pushed him up to give him a look. He shrugged and rolled away from her. He looked as if she'd ravished him and this made her feel distinctly satisfied.

"All right. This being a student thing is getting old, though," she declared, trying to get herself sorted.

His laugh was rough, but sincere. "It won't last forever. Less than two months, right?" He wiggled his inky brows and she smiled. "There you go. C'mon, love. Curfew."

"We will talk about all of this, right?" she asked after he checked to see that Harry and Luna were already out of the suite, though the other bed looked considerably rumpled.

Sirius chuckled, said something about "James" under his breath, and offered her his arm. They met few people on their way out of the castle, but that suited her quite well. Neville was escorting Yvette back at the same time, however.

"I look forward to talking about all of it, Hermione. I promise."

Something in her chest zinged a bit when he said he promised. "We're _connected_ now, aren't we?"

"We are."

Though this made her happy, Hermione also felt a sudden foreboding sweep over her. With all the Dark Magic they'd discussed, with the Death Eaters they'd fought, with the horcrux problem looming . . . she concluded that only an idiot wouldn't be concerned to be connected to all that.

And she, Hermione Jean Granger, was not an idiot. Nor was she an alarmist.

She didn't regret having participated in the ritual. Though what she had seen was painful in many ways, she agreed with Sirius's notion that insight was valuable. Still, she felt the added layering of "consequence" within herself. Her future was no longer just her own, was it? This was both uncomfortable and reassuring. A strange dichotomy.

Magic . . . magic often presented such dichotomies, she had learnt. It remained to be seen how this one would affect her and Sirius both.

* * *

"Magic made mistakes" - a nod to **_Soul Scars_ by ShayaLonnie**. I love that collection. You can find it in my Favorites list. Chapter Ten is my *favorite*.

And if you want a peek into the Third Task . . . just say the magic word: **Aparecium**! Remember, it only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs!


	21. Chapter Fourteen: Third Task

_**A/N:** This is a really long chapter. I know you know that already. When I was writing it, I decided that its best presentation was for you, my readers, to get it all at once. Well, most of it. ;-) An extra special tip of the hat to **moregoth** , who caught review #1000! I am all smiley, here!_

 _My thanks, forever and always, to **Katmom the Most Amazing Woman of Win** , who reads all this stuff ages before it goes into public view and sends me nice emails. _

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Third Task**

 _ **Late May, 1997**_

"Hermione, where were you?" Luna inquired, her gaze sharp, for once, and inquisitive. "Harry and Viktor were looking for you to go running, as it was such a lovely morning."

Luna had ambushed her outside the girls' carriage whilst Hermione was on her way to dinner. "Um, I had to take a trip. It was kind of a secret, though."

Luna laughed and twirled a little on the green grass, her school robe open and flowing prettily before she resumed her pace at Hermione's side. "You have a lot of secrets."

"I know. But this one will no longer need to be kept a secret after the Third Task, okay?" The blonde had a remarkable way about her; she could keep a secret, yes, but Hermione was leery of sharing too many.

Three days later, Hermione—Portkey in hand, quills and parchment and novel in her bag, dressed in her best Spring Uniform of a blue dress and light cloak with sensible ballet flats that were all charmed Beauxbatons blue—was hurrying past the wards on a path she was wearing down between the carriages and the Forbidden Forest. Her mind was racing, reviewing notes, texts, and the impacts of basic wards under full moons as opposed to new.

"Champion, stay your path."

She halted as a centaur—tall, proud, with pale skin and dark hair—emerged from the shadowy interior. Instinctively, she offered him a curtsy. "Good day, sir."

He nodded. "I am a Guardian of the Forest. You have been going forth often from this place and it has been noticed. Our Seer, Firenze, has said you are now a part of the House of Black, which is a Dark House, and we have been concerned."

She blushed, uncertain what to do with all of that. "I have been identified as the soulmate of Lord Black, but he is not a Dark wizard, Guardian. Nor is his heir."

"The Chosen One. Yes, we know of him as well. Have a care, young Champion. The House of Black is ancient and is not fond of the Muggle-born."

A chill swept over her skin. "Did your Seer, er, see something important? Is that why you bring me this warning, Guardian?"

He shook his head and she thought perhaps his stern features looked abashed as he said, "No. I was one who wounded you in the Task, and I wished to make amends. We did not wish to injure innocents, you see, and yet we were compelled to do so by treaty. Forgive us."

She smiled and offered him another obeisance. "I never held you or yours to blame, Guardian. You have my respect. But I must go, now. I have exams to take in France, which is why I'm here." She brandished her Portkey. "I bid you good day."

With some effort, she banished the warnings to the back of her mind. She was almost finished with her clandestine exams and could not afford to be distracted. She had a plan, after all, and it required her to officially out of school at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. If she were finished with her exams, then she could safely declare herself _done_.

Sirius Black was such a wonderful professor during Potions. Surely he'd appreciate her dedication to learning . . . new things . . . about his _library_.

She just had to finish school!

* * *

 ** _16 June 1997, Beauxbatons' chariot pour les filles, Hogwarts_**

"You're being subversive?" Charlie Weasley's tone was playful as they tried different approaches to reinventing her body armor. "Excellent."

Hermione grinned and held up a patching block of dragonhide. "I'm just not telling him yet. Remus knows, so I figured you'd be safe knowing, too."

"You really are a Marauder," Charlie said, his freckled grin filled with appreciation. "So, how did you manage to take, er, _BehMahs_ and prepare for the final task? Oh, and I am thinking the patch here isn't going to work."

Distracted, Hermione frowned. "But, I need it."

"How about we make you a singlet to wear under this, yeah? But are you sure, lass, that you want to cover your back?" He grinned. "I hear you've got a gorgeous set of wings on ya."

"Thank you, I guess," she muttered, contemplating his suggestion. They were in what passed for a visitor's lounge in the boys' carriage, that late spring day, and Charlie had been more than happy to work around Sirius's knowledge in helping her prepare for the Task. He took it as a prank of epic proportions, for whatever reason. She was just thankful for his help. "Can we have one made in time?"

"Oi, yeah. Little thing like you? We've got ready-made clothing in some of the basics. I'll pop off and get you one. If you're sure you want it? Wings, remember."

"I'm sure. Let me write you a draft, if you'd like, from my account at Gringotts in Paris, and that should take care of it."

"You've got a deal there, Miss Granger."

"It's _Hermione_!"

* * *

 ** _20 June 1997_**

" _Hermione_ ," Madame Maxime called softly just after sunrise. " _Please come with me. There is a minor chore to handle before the Task tomorrow."_

Madame, due to her heritage, was calling from under Hermione's window in the carriage. Well, not too far under, to be sure. Hermione opened the window with a flick of her hand. " _Now, Madame?_ "

" _Oui_."

Lips pressed together, Hermione wondered just what, by all the Fae, the Triwizard Tournament people felt they had to do the day before the Final Task that required a secretive summons? She donned the Beauxbaton spring uniform so as to make a favorable impression upon the Tournament organizers. She left her hair down, though, to give the impression of ease and confidence. It was a mental game as much as a magical and physical challenge, and she tried to never forget that.

"What do they want?" she inquired of her headmistress as they walked quickly to the castle proper. It was too early even for the earliest risers to be heading in for breakfast, being barely five in the morning.

Madame lifted a hand and a house-elf appeared, wearing a toga with purple spangles on it. "What French Mistress be wanting?"

"Coffee and scones, Libbet. Thank you."

"And for Missy Champion?" The green-eyed elf asked, ears perked to full extension.

"The same, _s'il vous plaît_."

Ludovic Bagman bustled in, looking as if he hadn't slept in a while, blond hair sticking straight up atop his head. "We're just waiting for the boys, Mademoiselle Granger," he informed her, still using an awkward French accent when he spoke her name. Judging by his smile, she supposed he thought he was being clever or ingratiating.

She and Madame sat at the end of the Ravenclaw table to wait for Harry and Viktor. Like her, Viktor was preparing for the Durmstrang version of the _Brevets d'Éducation Magique Avancée_. She had not seen much of him, aside from when they might encounter each other whilst out for runs around the lake or brief greetings before and after meals. His headmaster was keeping him close, practically at his elbow, and the stress from the Durmstrangers was palpable. She suspected much of that had to do with the revelation of the Dark Mark on New Year's Eve.

Harry came entered the Hall, hair tied back in a sloppy tail at the nape of his neck, Dumbledore at his heels. "Hermione," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes, "do you know what this is about?"

"No idea. Have a scone?"

"Thanks. So, Dad will be out here tomorrow. Said Remus is trying to get him to bet on one of us to win."

She laughed. "That went over well, I imagine." She sipped at her coffee. "Remus is quite amusing."

"He is, yeah. More lately than he used to be. Being mated is good for him."

She hadn't asked before, but she decided she could over coffee and scones. "And you?" she whispered. "You and Luna?"

He barely even blushed, which she was happy to see. "Yeah. Still can't see Wrackspurts, though."

"I'm happy for you."

"So am I!" He wiggled his brows in a playful manner and she laughed loudly enough to echo off the walls. "By the way," he added once she was eating her own scone, "I'm happy for you and Dad, as well. He's not laughed so much in a long time. Thank you."

She did blush, her gaze only bouncing off of his. "He's a remarkable man. I mean, you know, when he's not all furry and licking my face." He opened his mouth and she held up one finger. "Do not say it. You are your father's son and I don't want to hear it."

This time, it was his laughter that echoed in the Hall, which seemed to be Viktor's cue to join them. "Morning," he said shortly.

"Good morning, Viktor. Are you well?"

" _Da_. Vell enough. Vhat are ve doing here?"

Mister Bagman burst into their conversation with a disreputable, wrinkled witch's hat in one hand. "That's my cue! So, this is the Sorting Hat here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as Harry Black is well aware." He offered a strange little half-bow to Harry, who only stared at him with raised brows. "Normally, this Hat—an ancient magical artifact that can sift through a person's thoughts, but tells no secrets—is used to decide where a first year student would best be Sorted at school. Today, though, the Hat has acceded to a different use. We are going to ask it to look for a particular thing in your minds, something we will be using in the Task tomorrow."

"Vhat? As if ve needed personal boggart?"

"Oi! I did not agree to being Legilimized by the Hat, Mister Bagman."

Hermione said nothing, only exchanging a look with her headmistress, who seemed to be as much taken aback as Hermione was herself.

"Mademoiselle Granger of Beauxbatons, as you are in the lead, currently, for our Triwizard Tournament, you will be the first to, pardon the expression, have your head examined."

Determined to appear as if she were not remotely uncomfortable with this Hermione, composed her features and waited while the Game Master placed the ancient hat on her head.

 _Ah…_

When she heard the whisper, she jolted and ripped the thing off her head. _So much for being composed_ …

"It does that," Harry told her, his gaze rueful. "You don't have to answer; it'll just poke about for a moment or two." He picked the hat up off the floor and handed it to her.

Scowling, she kept a vehement response to herself and placed the hat on her head once more. The Heads of School were all watching her as if she were some rare breed at a zoo, which was vastly unwelcome.

 _Relax, Hermione. This won't hurt a bit. Your parents probably say that, right?_ She flinched but set her jaw and let the thing talk to her mind. _Ah, I see what I want, right there. Thank you. And don't throw me on the floor this time._

"Fine." She took the hat off and gave it to Mister Bagman. "Here." As the other Champions were eyeing her with questions fairly shouting from their silent faces, she tossed up her hands. "I have no idea what it was looking for. The comment about my parents, though, was entirely uncalled for."

* * *

 ** _21 June 1997, Kensington_**

The house was empty, save for one elf, who had attached herself to Sirius years ago and wasn't letting herself be transferred to Farecliffe for anything. The full moon had been the night before, and Sirius wasn't yet accustomed to not spending it with Moony, but he knew that Moony had his mate—Tonks's stints as a pink-furred wolf were hilarious—and a Swedish Short Snout in the guise of Dragonologist Charlie Weasley. Moony had lots to do on nights with a full moon.

And though Padfoot had an open invitation, Sirius hadn't gone, because the Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament was happening and he needed to have his wits about him. Harry would be competing, of course, which terrified him. Hermione would be competing, of course, which also terrified him. He had no illusions that this Task would be as easy as the one before, nor would it have just one basic obstacle, for Hermione had indicated that one of the tasks would be against multiple obstacles.

That had to be the Final one. Of course.

A Patronus leapt into his dressing room as he prepared to get ready for the day at Hogwarts. It was a flying insect, of all things. Maybe a wasp?

 _Lord Sirius Black! I, Ludo Bagman, Game Master for the Triwizard, am here to collect you. Please let me past the wards._

Suspicious, for it hadn't been six months since he'd inadvertently let marked Death Eaters past his wards, Sirius still had to heed the request. After all, it was a Patronus. A Guardian. A production of Light magic.

And Ludo Bagman certainly was affiliated with his son and the Triwizard. He sent his own Patronus to inform the man that he would be at the front gate in five minutes.

Once there, he didn't ask Bagman to come inside. Instead, Sirius met with him in the small garden in front of his townhouse. "Is something wrong with my son?" he demanded.

The blond man grinned expansively, spreading his hands as if to indicate nothing like that could possibly ever be the case. Sirius almost snorted but Bagman spoke again. "I just saw him yesterday, Lord Black. He's fine and ready for the Final Task today. No, I'm here on behalf of the Beauxbatons Champion." His smirk made Sirius want to become Padfoot and do something reprehensible to him. "You see, for the Task, each Champion is going to have a companion. Someone that is bound by magic to them, that they will have to keep safe and have at their side throughout the entirety of the Task. In fact, a Champion will be considered to have forfeited the Task if they reach the Winner's Cup without their companion. Now, Lord Black," he continued, his voice becoming oily enough to make Sirius want to take another shower, "I won't inquire how you became so very important to Mademoiselle Granger of Beauxbatons, but I've been assured that you are the person she treasures most in her immediate sphere. So you have been chosen as her companion. I will Apparate you to Hogwarts and—" He paused before taking a step back from Sirius. "And I'll need you to hand over your wand to the Tournament Judges before the Task begins."

"What?!" Sirius had seen a lot in his life, good and bad. He'd had shocks. He'd been surprised. He'd been amazed and overwhelmed and horrified. But whatever feelings that were shooting through his whole body until his muscles shook at that point were beyond description. He just stared at Bagman. Stared _hard_. "I'm going to be in a magical trap or something and won't even have my wand?"

"Well, no, but she will have hers and part of this challenge in the Triwizard Tournament is to see how well the Champion can defend those close to them. Prior tournaments had them rescuing hostages in hostile environments, you know. So, truly, Lord Black, I don't know what your concern is. You'll be with her the whole time and she will be with you."

Sirius still wasn't happy when they arrived at Hogwarts. They were admitted by Rubeus Hagrid, who was watching Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons with both his eyes. Sirius couldn't even smile about that; he was far too preoccupied. The Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Hagrid, and Sirius himself had all been sequestered behind the judges' box that overlooked a maze of sorts that had been constructed on the Quidditch Pitch. He could only see vague shapes within the maze, as the barricades and walls were apparently crafted of wards. He could, though, see the prize: a shining cup on a raised dais in the center of the maze. There were a variety of paths to get to it, but they wouldn't, he was sure, be easily seen from the ground.

"Oh, hello, Lord Black!" Luna Lovegood was waiting with Dumbledore, her eyes bright and her expression cheerful. "Won't this be an adventure! Far nicer, I'm sure, than fighting Death Eaters in Hogsmeade." She twirled to show off her bright yellow dress. "I didn't have the opportunity to find something better for the tournament, but I did manage to conjure a red ribbon," she went on to say, showing him the back of her head, where a Gryffindor-red ribbon was entwined with her curls. "I wasn't allowed to cast my Patronus, though, as the Headmaster took my wand."

Sirius nodded in commiseration. "Madame Maxime has mine. And I didn't have the chance to change, either."

Luna smiled slyly. "Well, I'm sure they knew that you would use every opportunity to communicate with your Champion and let her know what was happening. I know I would have."

"So Harry doesn't know?"

"No," she answered, frowning for the first time in Sirius's memory. "And he will be quite distressed. That is the way of soulmates, you know."

"Here is Krum's companion." Karkaroff sounded abrupt, dismissive, as he escorted the lovely _Fräulein_ Roth to join them. "I haff her vand. Are ve ready?"

Sirius flexed his fingers; his hands felt empty. Being without his wand. Having surrendered his wand. This was . . . a lot for him to take in. He'd surrendered it on occasion whilst he was an Auror, but that was to Alastor Moody. He knew and trusted Moody to have his back in any conflict. But to give it to the care and keeping of a virtual stranger?

He'd have to trust entirely in Hermione to face whatever obstacles would come their way. _Well_ , he mused with a smirk he hid behind one empty hand, _I would if I couldn't do wandless magic fairly well. So can she, come to that_.

The reminder was heartening, and he took a breath and looked out once more over the course. _Maybe I can memorize paths to reach the prize cup. We could hook up with Harry and Luna . . . hm. Where?_

Still. They'd all four make it. _That path there goes to—_

A haze settled over the entire course as Ludo Bagman decided it was time to do his job again. Bloody berk.

* * *

"And in first place, the lovely Champion from Beauxbatons, Hermione Granger!"

The applause and shouting were a lot louder this time, Hermione noted, but she was rather distracted to appreciate it. Where were Sirius, Luna, and Rosamund?

 _"Did you see Luna this morning, Hermione?" Harry had asked, having crossed the Hall to inquire, apparently. "We were, er, going to meet before breakfast . . . somewhere . . . and she didn't show up and I wondered if you'd seen her."_

 _"No, I'm sorry. I hope she's not ill. Shall I ask?"_

 _Her inquiries had availed her nothing, but her obvious hunting for the blond girl had caught the eye of the Durmstrang Champion, who was also hunting for someone._

 _It was only after breakfast that they had all three met to compare notes, Harry going so far as to try his charmed mirror and Hermione her Grim to find out that Sirius was likewise unable to be found._

 _Viktor realized it first. "Dey vill be part of Task. Somehow." He'd gone a bit pale saying so. "Rosamund." He shook his head sharply, once, and brought an iron gaze to Harry. "Your Luna?"_

 _"Yeah. And my Dad, apparently. For Hermione."_

 _"They took adult? Member ov Parliament?" He swore, then, and Hermione didn't bother to translate._

 _She and Harry exchanged looks. "I'll do my best to make sure he's safe, Harry," she promised, though the weight of that settled in her stomach like a boulder. "I will."_

And now, she waited, lined up with the other Champions, wondering where their beloved partners were. Did they have to brave whatever was in the warded configuration before them to find those who were missing? Would they have to rescue them somehow? Were they being held as surety for something?

Any Tournament that would set schoolchildren against dragons was not to be trusted.

The introductions had happened, apparently, and Hermione scanned the filled-to-overflowing spectator stands. There was that journalist with the pink quill. There was someone on the wireless up in the middle near the judges' table. Who knew who else would be reporting that afternoon? It was warm, for this late June day. Warm and sunny and . . .

There was no Sirius Black up there to smile for her and make the terrible pressure within ease. No laughing eyes with the tiny wrinkles that spoke of a life well-lived. No reassuring nod or wave.

"Come, _ma petite_ ," Madame Maxime urged, a hand on her shoulder. " _Be at ease, he is close by, your Lord Black_."

Her heart leapt for a moment and she dared to look up at her Headmistress as she was led to an aperture in the milky wards that was numbered with "1" in elaborate illumination as if it were in the Book of Kells. "You've seen him?" she murmured, just in case there was a hidden Sonorous Charm activated somewhere.

" _Oui_."

"And Mademoiselle Granger, who has fifty-five points, will have a three minute lead over Harry Black, who has fifty-two points. He will enter from the second portal. And then, one minute later, Viktor Krum of Durmstrang will enter at the third portal. On my mark, then, Mademoiselle Granger." Madame Maxime leant over to kiss her gently on the top of her head—a mark of rare favor that made Hermione even more nervous—before leaving to join the other judges. She could see them gathering and letting Madame lead the way to the appointed, festooned table. Cameras were undoubtedly clicking all over the stadium seating.

Hermione waited as the crowd grew quiet. Waited as the judges were seated. Waited and waited and then—

"And one more thing!"

Suddenly infuriated, she snapped, " _Ta Gueule!_ " She didn't want to be much more rude, but still. The man was going beyond the pale at this point, stretching this out so long.

And then, she heard a laugh that she desperately needed to hear. "I concur. He needs to shut that mouth of his, but he won't get so much attention for years, so he's milking it right now."

"Sirius!" She rushed to him, uncaring of the witnesses all over, and flung her arms around his shoulders. "Where—"

"No time now, love. I have to give you this. It's charmed. And you have to keep me in arm's reach until we win this thing."

"What?" He placed the charmed token in her left hand with his right. He felt the shock of the charm, the spell that bound them as they both touched it. She gasped. "Bloody hell," she whispered, surprising him. "What did you do?"

"What I had to, love. I'll explain when we're inside, all right?" He fired a glance up at the judges. "And, there." A crackling sound popped above the stands and she moved instinctively to get within the wards. The Third Task had begun in earnest.

* * *

She could feel him, his magic pressed up against hers. It wasn't the erotic, loving feeling she got when he himself was pressed against her. It was, instead, charged with hope and dread both.

"Take a breath for me, my lord," she whispered as they held hands and entered the wards.

"I took a look at the course from where they had us waiting. Go North. _That_ way. Stay that way as much as you can and there should be three separate paths to reach the cup."

They set off at a jog, she with her wand in her free right hand, he holding on to her with his. "No dragon armor?" she asked, trying to keep her mind alert whilst looking and waiting in utter trepidation for the first obstacle, creature, or curse to find them.

"No time," he answered with a puff of air she could hear. "You'll just have to make do with the formal robes."

"Quite nice," she said, not looking over at him. Then, it happened.

She'd been trying her best to keep on a northern heading, but it had been hard. The haze of the magic wardings had obscured her vision—accidentally/on purpose, she imagined—and she had to angle around a wall that jutted from the east, right on her path. And an amorphous, black thing crept around that obstruction to settle in front of her. "Boggart," she whispered.

Sirius, dear man that he was, leapt in front of her and the boggart became an image of Harry Black, lying in a pool of blood with a tall, dark man standing over him.

"Harry," Sirius whispered, his skin cold under her fingers.

She wasted no more than a moment before summoning her confidence and imagining how, by Morgana and all the Fae, she could make this horrid image into something amusing. Something funny about Harry. Harry on his broom. Harry being snarky over the holiday at Farecliffe. Yes. " _Riddikulus_!" she shouted, pointing her wand at the devastating image and picturing Harry Black throwing buzzing white "Wrackspurts" at the dark man who had stood over him.

The boggart faded away and her path was clear. From somewhere, she heard the hiss and faint echo of applause. Perhaps Harry had entered the maze.

"So why are you stuck to me?" she asked as they moved a bit more cautiously, as northward as she could go.

"I didn't know I'd be stuck to you. They told me I'd have to be in arm's reach."

She snorted harshly just before the ground before them exploded.

"Shit!" Sirius shouted. "What the bleeding hell? Where'd that come from?"

He tried to tug his hand from hers, but he couldn't and all she could do was conjure a quick _Protego Duo_ to cover them as they contemplated their next move. "We have to hurry, I know, but how to we get around this? It's blocking the entire path." They tried to separate but were once again thwarted. Frustration and irritation stirred in her stomach. "And you've no armor." She growled, deep in her chest, for she had no other outlet for her upset.

Sirius rubbed her armored arm with his free hand. "Let's try running and jumping. Maybe we can levitate each other in midair and make it all the way?"

"You've no wand," she whispered.

"Don't really need one for that." He laughed, there in the maze with explosions now sound out in different places around them and the crowds gasping and who knew what all. Her heart eased and she felt herself relax.

"All right then, on three we cast yeah?"

"Right. Lead us off, Champion."

She nodded. "Right. All right." She backed up a bit and said, "Go!"

They ran for a few paces. "Jump!" she cried before pointing her wand across her body toward Sirius and saying, "One! Two! Three! _Levicorpus_!"

She heard a distinct " _Leviosa_ " from him at the same moment and, though she felt herself hold still mid-air for a breath, his body moved forward on the impetus of the spell she'd cast.

He pulled her with him, thankfully. "Good thing we didn't _both_ use my spell," he commented breathlessly, those brilliant eyes dancing as he caught her and she performed a silent canceling charm.

"Good thing," she agreed before rolling up on her toes to kiss him briefly. "So you're stuck to me as one of the, what, obstacles? No, wait." She frowned and thought back over notes she'd taken as far back as last September. "Hostage. This is one of the hostage scenarios."

"They called me a companion but," he said with a wry glance at their hands, "I'm inclined to go with hostage."

"Let's go!" she said, feeling like she understood things a bit better. "North. Which way? I got turned around."

He eyed the sky and pointed and they went, leaping with a bright _Lumos_ charm over Devil's Snare that waved at them, and dodging pixies who cast stinging hexes at them. Hermione winced, protecting Sirius with her armored body as much as she could, but one caught her neck and another her face. She could feel the flaring pain and swelling and hissed.

"Hermione! Wait! Let me see."

"No time. Let's go. Hear that?"

A shout rose up and the clear chant of "Krum! Krum! Krum!" made her wonder what horrid fate had befallen Harry, for certainly Krum wasn't anywhere near—

"Hehrmyoni!"

It was Viktor, holding hands with a silent and perhaps not altogether _there_ Rosamund Roth. "Viktor? What's wrong with Rosamund?"

Viktor lifted his wand and aimed it, his eyes seeming blank as he pointed toward her and Sirius before he said one word. " _Imperio_."

* * *

Sirius blanched as soon as Viktor Krum lifted his wand against Hermione. "No!" he shouted, pushing Hermione out of the way after the other man cast the Unforgivable Imperius Curse.

He felt it hit him instead. _Imperio!_

"Sirius! No!" He heard the sharp denial but was too busy fending off the insidious push of the Curse. Fortunately, as an Auror, he'd had experience fighting it before. Moody was a firm believer in familiarizing all those on his team with all manner of curses and hexes. Hermione called out something and the Viktor Krum fell over. The insidious pulsations in Sirius's mind stopped immediately and he shook himself all over.

"Thanks, love."

"Of course. Come on, let's go. I'm worried, now."

They took off at a jog, hands still charmed to be together as Hermione took the negligible lead. The sun had barely moved in the sky overhead, but Sirius felt as if they'd been in that place for hours. Which was ridiculous, but even so. "What are you worried about?" he asked her, wincing when a golem appeared at the turn of the path to shoot actual pointed arrows at her. She stood in front of him, taking the hits herself, with barely a sound. "Hermione?"

"I want to win. Doesn't Harry? I am worried about Luna as well—oh no!"

Sirius swore as this huge . . . thing appeared before them. Maybe three meters long, it had a segmented body that reminded him of both a crab and a scorpion. "That thing reeks," he decided, covering his nose with his free hand.

Hermione cast a Bubble-head Charm around them and he breathed more easily. "What is it?" she wondered, trying to step about to one side of it. "Can we jump over it as well?"

"No idea," he retorted. "Try hitting it with a _Reducto_ , maybe?"

She nodded and did just that, but the damned thing left them a parting gift: as it was being torn apart by Hermione's curse, it blasted fire out its arse, singing Sirius's trousers. Thankfully, Hermione took the brunt of that one with her dragonhide as well.

"Are you all right?" she demanded, turning to look at him and dispelling the Bubble-head charm with a dismissive pass of her hand. "Let me see." Kneeling before him, she felt up one leg and then the other and he couldn't help it—didn't matter that they were in danger or anything; his body apparently interpreted her position as an _offer_ and his response was inevitable.

She saw it and bit her lip as she flickered a quick glance up to him. "I have no idea what anyone can see in here, Lord Black, so . . . all oral exams will have to be administered at a later date."

She stood, then, and he had to kiss her. Just once. "I don't care who can see us, Hermione. You're all but done anyway."

"Just have to finish this Task! Come on!" Her smile surprised him, as he knew she was tense and anxious. "Will you hate me if I win over Harry?"

"No. I promise."

He felt the small buzz of that promise in his chest and remembered she had experienced something similar the night she went through the soulmate ritual. That sense that a promise made to a soulmate was sacred and would be remembered. That sense of Otherworldliness involved with their relationship. "I could never hate you," he said belatedly.

She tossed him a distracted smile over her shoulder and then shouted, " _Merde_! Duck!" before tugging on his arm and throwing him to the ground. She landed atop him, protecting his body with of much of hers as she could and he could feel small creatures swoop down and land on her. He smelt sulphur and burning hair and winced. "Small dragons," she whispered in a strained voice. " _Immobulus_!"

He waited, then asked, "Can we get up?"

"Yes, I'm so tired of this. Where to now? How's your sense of direction?"

"I'm sorry," he murmured, putting his arm around her as he smelt her hair and winced again for her. She hadn't mentioned it, yet, and he wouldn't either. "I can't remember; I've got so turned around."

There was another burst of applause and a chant of "Black! Black! Black!"

"Sirius?" Hermione tossed her head and nearly clipped his jaw, but he appreciated the nearly martial light in her eye. "Want to help me, er, avoid some obstacles?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Flying. But. I'd need to levitate you, make you featherlight, and tug you along in the air. Can you handle that? Then I'll—"

"Be able to see where to go! Excellent. Yes, I'm all for that." He privately hoped they would arrive at the same time as Harry and that all four of them—as he imagined, naturally, that Harry would have the charming and whimsical Miss Lovegood stuck to _his_ left hand—could run to the glowing cup he'd seen earlier. "I'll look rather undignified for a member of the Wizengamot, though. "

She quirked him a smile. "I'll make it up to you."

He nodded and waited and she went very still. "What?" he asked.

"Wardrobe problem." With a grimace she twisted this way and that. "I'm wearing a singlet underneath my armor. I'll have to strip the armor off to my waist and then remove the singlet and then replace my armor. Not sure how to do this with you stuck to me." She brought their joined hands up between them.

Urgency was now racing through his limbs, but he made himself just think.

"No!" Another cry flew over the maze and it made Sirius's blood freeze.

"Harry," he breathed. "What the bloody hell happened to him?"

For once, Hermione wasn't any consolation, she looked up, past the hazy, warded boundaries that made up the maze, and shook her head. Only a renewed cry of, "Black! Black! Black!" in a cheering manner let Sirius relax again.

"This is way too hard for someone my age," he muttered, wishing he could just sit down. But he couldn't, because his soulmate was facing a conundrum.

* * *

Hermione pushed out a breath. "Fine. Just do it, Hermione," she muttered. She plunged her wand into the coiled braid on the back of her head, as she'd done during the First Task, and asked Sirius, "Please pull the shoulder down on my armor, this side." She shrugged her right shoulder and he did as she asked, brows lifted in some silent query she didn't choose to answer. Once her arm was free, she did closed her eyes because she really didn't want to do this with a huge Triwizard Tournament audience, but she had little choice. In her head, she imagined Charlie Weasley giving her a big _I told you so!_ but she'd let him do that in person later. "Close your eyes and stand in front of me, if you would, Lord Black. I'd rather not flash my breasts to half of Wizarding Britain."

He coughed, eyes wide, but forebore to comment. She would repay him for his consideration after they finished. Perhaps he could see the tension all over her face. One he was shielding her with his body and had his eyes shut, she did her best to get the singlet off her torso and over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, as the dragonhide singlet was enough support for her breasts. Having her naked breasts effectively rubbing against Sirius's body was embarrassing and arousing.

"You know, we'll have to try this again without an audience," he murmured, eyes still closed.

She tugged the singlet down until it hung from her elbow and then she did her best to get her arm in the empty sleeve of her armor. "Pull up my sleeve?"

He _still_ didn't open his eyes and, for that, she kissed him as soon as she was covered once more. A wave of "Awwww" reached them from the spectators and she blushed fire, she was sure.

"Thank you," she whispered, briefly tucking her head under his chin. "Er, you can open your eyes now."

He kissed the top of her head. "You're welcome. Let's fly, all right?"

He cast a featherlight charm on himself and she pointed her wand at him at the same time that she flared her wings from her body. It hurt, her skin ripping and feeling for just a moment as if her insides were exposed to the elements, just like the times before, but she was confident now and leapt into the air.

And almost fell again. Light he might be, and able to move on his own with her attached, but she had an imbalance issue even so. "Trying, Sirius!"

"I know. Breathe, love. You're doing beautifully."

"Bet you say that to all the Champions!" she quipped as she struggled again to gain altitude. "Gonna have to center you."

"All right."

She moved and adjusted and soon he was underneath her, arm twisted a bit so he could look ahead and not "fly" on his back. "There it is!"

"I see it," he said, his voice strained. "Hurry?"

Bagman's voice filled the air. "And there is the Beauxbatons Champion! Employing her skill with partial human transfiguration as she did in the Second Task! Look, she sees the Hogwarts Champion and she's, _yes_ , she's flying down to _meet the other pair!_ "

* * *

 _ **BehMahs** \- Charlie refers to the BÉMAs, or _ Brevets d'Éducation Magique Avancée, _the French equivalent of the N.E.W.T.s - imagined and named by **Zabethou**._

 _Note: I am going out of state on a visit to an ailing parent for the weekend. I won't have my computer with me. This results in two things: 1) I will be able to send out replies and peeks into the next chapter until I head to the airport Friday afternoon, but you have to cast the **Aperecium** charm and be signed in and accepting PMs. 2) **Chapter Fifteen: Resurrection** won't post until Tuesday morning, my time. _

_Thanks for reading!_

 _LJ_


	22. Chapter Fifteen: Resurrection

_**A/N:** Wonder of wonders, I just got home and am posting this evening. Why? Because I am kind of in an unusual headspace after spending the weekend with the parental unit. I'm glad I went, but it was hard even so. Thank you for the kind wishes. :) Alzheimers is hard. _

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Resurrection**

"Harry! Luna!"

They were on the final run up to the raised mound that held the Winner's Cup. Luna waved. "Oh, hello, Hermione. Hello, Lord Black! Good to see you again!" Her yellow dress was like a splash of living sunshine against the backdrop of spring grass and ward-hazed magic. Beside her, Harry was garbed like Danger himself, in black dragonhide, his hair dark and wild about his head.

Hermione, landed with less grace than she might have liked as Sirius regained his balance and she willed her wings back into her body. "So, your dad would rather neither of us lose," she ventured.

Harry grinned and laughed. "But what about the thousand Galleons?"

"Split it?"

"You're on, let's go!"

Sirius was laughing at her side, just as Harry did. The men sounded similar and it gladdened Hermione's heart to hear them together. They reached the cup together, and Luna said, "Let's all claim it! We had to go through the maze as well!"

"Too true, Miss Lovegood. Harry? Hermione?"

"And it's clear that Harry Black and Hermione Granger have decided that they should both win at the Third Task!" Ludovic Bagman announced. The spectators erupted in a mixture of cheers and cries, but Hermione could not have cared less.

As one, all four of them took hold of a part of one of the two available handles. She grinned at Sirius, Harry, and Luna until she felt the unsettling tug behind her navel. "No! It's a—"

* * *

—"Portkey!" Sirius was still screaming this as he landed, finally unconnected to Hermione, in a sunlit graveyard. The air was knocked out of him and a giant, indrawn breath seemed to claim it.

A giant breath drawn in by a small collection of black-robed Death Eaters, who stood, wands out but unmoving.

Sirius didn't pause to think; he reacted. _My son!_ With a swift wave of his hand, he wandlessly Banished the Portkey back to Harry, hoping it would take his son out of danger and back to the relative safety of the Third Task.

"Shit, Dad! Noooo!"

Harry's scream lingered in the air, but he himself was gone. Only then could Sirius breathe in the necessary oxygen to keep living. And he bounced off his arse and on to his feet.

Harry, gone. Luna Lovegood, also gone. Hermione, right at his back.

He swore at himself at least a dozen times as Hermione used that moment to create the shield, the shining cage, around the two of them.

" _Fortresse_!" Her wand glowed, the lines of power arcing up and around and down. He glanced at her hand to see the same golden cord from her palm to the ground. "Okay, this will give us about a minute, Sirius. What do we do?"

He felt his chest constrict with terror, fear, and a love that just about overwhelmed him. It nearly brought him to his knees, what he felt in that moment, but he had absolutely no time to deal with it.

The Death Eaters were closing in, except for the one by the cauldron. Barty Crouch, Junior. Who was carrying something that looked like a baby. The ugliest baby he'd ever seen.

He didn't have time to puzzle it out. There was only time for the basics. "I don't have my wand, love."

"Can you use mine? Since we're soulmates?"

"If I take it, we lose your shield." He hated that he couldn't take his focus from the threats before them to look at her at this moment. "Can you Apparate back to the Maze?"

"And leave you here? Not bloody likely!"

The Death Eaters started casting at the shield. One of them called out, "I've seen that! The girl used it in Hogsmeade!"

"It killed Avery! Don't touch it!"

"That's Sirius Black! He killed Gibbon!"

"That only took them what, an hour to figure out?" Hermione muttered, sarcasm falling from her tongue like needles. He had to snort. "Thank you," she said. "I'm glad you're here. What do we do?" He could feel her reach deeply for her magic. He could feel her . . .

"Can you hex through the shield?"

"I've never tried—my wand has been busy."

He tried a wordless, wandless _Stupefy_ , aiming the palm of his hand through an empty spot in the cage-like shield. It didn't work. "Damn. All right. Can you feel my magic?"

She hissed and said she could. "Why?"

"I want you to try to keep feeling it, even if something . . . happens. I can tell you're tiring, love, but you've bought us time and that's so much more than we would have had."

"Maybe Harry will come back? He can Apparate!"

"Merlin, I hope not. Not unless he brings the entire Auror Corps with him."

The hexes kept coming, being deflected or absorbed by Hermione's shield. Finally, one of the geniuses who made up the Death Eaters shouted, "I remember how to break this!"

Hermione made a whimpering sound. " _Merde_!"

"About bloody time! So do it!"

Sirius felt like their reprieve was about over, so finally turned to look at her, his soulmate, and he whispered in her ear. "No matter what happens, Hermione, know that I love you."

"No, Sirius!" His name came out at three different levels and he could hear her crying, but he was preparing himself to ignore it.

The second denial came from outside the cage. One Death Eater grabbed a smaller one and threw him at the shield.

"No!"

There was a horrific buzzing about them and the one Death Eater fell to the grass, stunned or dead.

"Take the girl."

The command came from the thing in Crouch's arms, but Sirius wasn't having any of it. "Not on your life!" he declared, leaping in front of Hermione. She was exhausted and hadn't raised her wand after her shield had been breached. His defiance was short-lived. The Death Eater flicked his wand at him and he knew no more.

* * *

Her heart was pushing, running, pounding as if to escape her body. A chilled sweat met the warm air in the graveyard, dripping down her exposed spine. Her chest felt compressed, constricted, and she drew in a long, slow breath to try to stave off a faint as they dragged Sirius from her. His feet drew two long furrows in the earth as they pulled him toward a standing stone and magically bound him there with ropes across his forehead, throat, chest, and knees. And still he didn't revive. Her heart felt as if it would crack and she tried, as he'd told her, she tried to reach him with her magic. Tried to push that inner part of herself to him, her soulmate, the man who'd said he loved her.

To no avail. She tried to catch her breath. "Oh, Sirius…"

The man who held her in heavy hands smacked her across the mouth. "Shut up, Mudblood. Our lord has need of Black."

"Bring her here, Crabbe." The voice was raspy, small, but everyone flinched, she noticed. Robes fluttered and shoulders hunched and it was almost as if the summer sun dimmed a bit.

"Yes, my lord," her captor murmured.

So the voice was Voldemort's. The one who had made the horcruxes. The one that had killed Harry's mother and father. She didn't fight as she was taken to him; she felt just then that her best option was to appear harmless. A bystander who could make a strong _Fortresse_ , but not a combatant. Someone that wouldn't need, say, to be petrified or put to sleep and left senseless and vulnerable.

"Mudblood," the man holding the small thing that had to be a non-horcrux-holding Voldemort muttered. "My lord, this is Hermione Granger, Champion of Beauxbatons in the Triwizard Tournament."

The small thing twisted its skeletal head on a tiny neck. "You . . . came with Black. He had no wand and yet he tried to defend you. You must be important to him."

She refused to answer. She could be a stubborn non-combatant. All the while, she felt part of her awareness trained on Sirius's bound body, alert to any movement he might make.

The man holding the Voldemort thing cleared his throat. "She is, my lord. She was at his home. I saw her there personally. They have spent time together. Enough so that he was chosen for her hostage in the Tournament."

"Excellent. Bring her to the cauldron and hold her there, Crabbe. If she tries to escape, cut off her wand hand."

Well. That wasn't good. She let her fear and worry show on her face. _Look vulnerable. Don't_ be _vulnerable! What can you see right now to help you or Sirius?_

Nothing of use, that was certain. It was daylight. It was warm and bright and lovely, even in the graveyard. Around her were ancient, mossy crypts, eroding headstones, mature trees with rich green leaves. It was an incongruous place for Death Eaters, though she didn't dare say so. She was terrified of them. Terrified and helpless.

They had her wand. Sirius didn't take it, though she'd offered, which she felt would have done some good. He used to be an Auror. He knew how to fight Death Eaters. He should have had the wand! His wandless magic was strong, but . . .

Not strong enough, apparently.

She knew wandless magic, though. Whilst the Death Eater who held her—what was his name?—all but carried her toward the enormous cauldron, she did a quick inventory.

She could perform some spells without her wand. She could perform some spells silently. She had the ability to give herself wings. She could fly.

But not without Sirius!

She had no battle experience to speak of, but Sirius did. If she could get him away from the men that had him—

"Alecto, Amicus."

Two masked people stepped forward and bowed to Voldemort. "Yes, my lord," they said in unison.

"Crouch, speak to them," the thing directed with a feeble wave of its tiny, bony hand.

So, there was Crouch, Alecto, Amicus, Crabbe, and the one that had apparently not recovered from her shield. Four conscious Death Eaters. One of her. And one unconscious Sirius Black.

She decided to take a risk and drew in a long, slow breath to scream. "Sirius!" she cried, pushing magic, herself, all that she could imagine toward her revealed soulmate.

And then Crabbe hit her again, and she fell, hitting her head on the cauldron on the way to the ground. But before she blacked out, she heard, "Hermione!"

* * *

 _Sirius! Sirius!_

He had known nothing until his name. Felt nothing until she pulled him from the dark emptiness where he had been sent. But when he woke, heart pounding in shock, he roared her name in fury, for she had fallen. And he could not reach her.

"Sirius Black!"

His name was shouted on a hissing, raspy breath, near the cauldron where Hermione lay. It was natural for him to twitch his wrist to summon his wand, but then he recollected that he'd surrendered it to Madame Maxime. Fat lot of good it did him!

"Voldemort."

"Do not say his name!" The attempted reprimand came from at least three throats and Sirius dragged his attention from the pale woman lying next to the cauldron. Thank Merlin she hadn't been burnt by any flame, but he didn't know how long that would last.

"What do you want?" He shifted under the ropes that constricted his limbs and head. He felt the burn of friction, the splitting of his skin, but he didn't heed that. It was minor discomfort, surely, compared to what was planned for him. "Let her go!" he demanded.

"I want your son, but you'll do. Crabbe, wake the girl. With your knife," Barty Crouch, Junior, instructed, his glittering eyes on Sirius all the while. "You see, Black, you will be of infinite use to us today. Fitting as you're a pure-blood. Your mother would be so pleased."

Fury burned in his blood and he flicked his fingers, wanting all of them to just disappear. He didn't manage that, but what he did manage was to knock the masks off of Alecto and Amicus Carrow, who gasped and swore as Crabbe dug the tip of his knife into exposed skin near Hermione's upper spine.

She revived with a small shriek. "Sirius!"

"Here, love." He swallowed, though his throat was dry. Sweat was starting to sting the myriad cuts and abrasions in his skin. "I'm right here. Don't worry. We'll get through this." He met Crouch's sneer with his own, gathering his magic about him as well as pulling that part of him that connected with Hermione's magic near like a cloak. "What do you want?" he demanded once more.

"Oh, nothing too much. You won't even miss it. Here, Alecto. Hold the Dark Lord and keep him away from the Mudblood."

As if Hermione would want to come within a Quidditch Pitch of Voldemort.

Crouch passed over the . . . thing . . . and approached Sirius. "You see, Black, you will be of great use to our lord. Great use. Right here this very afternoon."

"No! You can't make him do anything!" Hermione struggled in Crabble's meaty paws and Sirius willed her to stop, to be quiet. To refrain from making a target of herself. But she couldn't do that, could she? Not and be who she was. Whom he loved. She hissed in pain as Crabbe raked his knife down her back. It was the only vulnerable spot she had, covered in dragonhide as she was. She stared at him, her eyes wet and tears on her cheeks, but she did not cry aloud. "No," she whispered. He heard her, though, before the Death Eaters taunted her.

"No!" they called out in unison, their voices all a snide falsetto—a parody of an echo.

"Do it now!"

Crouch spun to bow to the inhuman thing that was an aspect of Voldemort. "As you will, lord." Sirius met Hermione's eyes, wondering what the bloody hell was going on. Crabbe's knife was now just below her ear, and blood dripped slowly down her neck, disappearing under the line of dragonhide. She was being incredibly brave, though. Even her tears had dried under the sun.

Crouch beckoned with one hand. "Amicus!"

The heavyset, maskless man cleared his throat and nodded, waving his wand at one of the above-ground crypts. A plate of stone slid away with an empty, echoing sound. Like time moving in the cave of eternity. A bone—maybe a leg bone, Sirius wasn't all that aware of the proper anatomical names of bones—was levitated from the stone box and floated to the cauldron.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

There was a lot of burbling in the cauldron and Hermione jerked her head back to see it. Thankfully, her captor had done likewise.

Crouch wasn't done, though. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master." He dashed to the cauldron, beckoning to Alecto as he did, taking his so called Dark Lord from her arm before she nodded. And then he cut off one of her ears and dropped it into the cauldron, where even more frothing resulted.

"Thank you. Thank you my lord," the woman said as she knelt. In ecstasy or suffering, Sirius neither knew nor cared.

"Now, you idiot!" the thing insisted in its diffuse whine. Crouch dropped the infant-sized creature into the bubbling cauldron and the conscious Death Eaters raised a low cheer of triumph.

Crouch himself was grinning like a madman as he ran back to Sirius, knife brandished before him as if it were the Sword of Gryffindor. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Hermione screamed, her voice carrying throughout the entire cemetery. "Sirius! I love you!"

"I love you!" he shouted back as Crouch pierced his arm above the elbow so that blood, probably pumping faster due to his fear and anger, fell over the length of the blade. His terror was nearly endless, though. If death were to be in his next breath, what would happen to Hermione? He kept his eyes on her, determined that his last view of life would be all about her. His son, at least, was safe, and James and Lily would know he'd done his best and—

He didn't die. He wasn't killed. The shock of it left him nearly breathless as Crouch ran back to the cauldron, shaking and pressing all of Sirius's collected blood into the cauldron before backing quickly away from it. Crabbe jerked Hermione around so that all of them, willing and unwilling, wounded and whole, would witness what happened next.

Fire erupted from the cauldron, as if it were Fiendfyre itself. The heat blasted them all, so that hair flew back and everyone who could shielded their eyes from the blaze. An inhuman cry morphed slowly to a male shout of triumph as a figure appeared and flames dissipated into the sunlit air about them. The Death Eaters who were still on their feet fell to their knees, Crabbe throwing Hermione down before him.

Sirius swore to himself that Crabbe would die for his treatment of Hermione. A slow death, if possible, but a quick one if it had to be.

"Ah!"

"My lord!" Crouch called, sounding as if in the throes of a sexual climax. It made Sirius's skin cringe to hear. "I have robes and your wand!"

Voldemort's skin was pale, as pale as a week-old corpse, which was unsurprising. Bald, he had no nose, but his ears were very well-shaped. He stretched and took the offered robes Crouch had pulled from . . . somewhere . . . and the wand.

And then, he turned. "You've done well. You, you here, will be rewarded," he said in a voice thin but strong. Then, his eye shifted to Sirius. "Thank you, Lord Sirius Black." He waved his wand and Sirius felt his bonds go slack. He fell forward whilst blood rushed back to his extremities. "And look, you brought a pet."

Sirius brought all of his magic to bear, everything he had, for one spell. " _Expelliarmus_!" he cried.

And three things happened all at once.

Harry returned with Dumbledore, Remus, and what appeared to be fully half the Auror Corps at his back.

Crabbe jumped to his feet, leaving Hermione free to roll away from him, which she did.

And Lord Voldemort's wand flew from the newly resurrected wizard, pushing the pale man back against the cauldron of his rebirth.

"Dad! Your wand!" Harry threw Sirius his wand and it seemed to come to his hand, just the way he needed it to.

And chaos reigned for perhaps sixty seconds. That's how long it took for Alecto and Amicus Carrow to be destroyed by at least ten curses each. That's how long it took for Sirius to _Diffindo_ Crabbe's throat so that he would hopefully bleed to death before Dumbledore and his Second Chance Fetish healed him. That's how long it took before Crouch caught up Voldemort and Apparated the pair of them out of the graveyard.

It took about sixty-five seconds for Hermione to be in his arms. And even that was five seconds too long.

* * *

"I love you." Hermione heard him say it again and again against her skin, her burnt hair, her bloody neck.

"I love you." She breathed the words back to him, clinging to him, marveling that he hadn't been killed, that he was breathing, on his feet, and whole. She gripped his shoulders under her fingers, nuzzled his throat with her nose to breathe him in, sweat and blood and tears. She pressed against him, uncaring what it might look like to any of the Aurors who were fanned out behind them, searching amongst the graves and crypts and trees for any hidden Death Eaters. There was only him. Solid and alive and with her. "Sirius, I thought—"

"I know. So did I," he said, a chuckle in his voice that astonished her and made her smile despite her tears. "So did I. But look, you said Harry'd be back, and—"

"Dad!"

Hermione couldn't let him go, though. Not even for his son.

The three of them, then, embraced, and if Hermione felt strong, masculine sobs vibrate through her own arms, if she heard choked voices and reassurances, she never said she did. She might not have been able to relinquish Sirius's physical proximity, but she could still give him the illusion of privacy.

"So, where's Luna?" she asked Harry once the men had moved away a little from each other, wiping their faces as she did hers.

"With Nev. He wanted to come, but . . . I needed him to keep her safe, you know?" He studied her then, moving to give her a thorough looking over. "You need to see a Healer, Hermione." He flashed a glance as Sirius. "Dad? Have you . . ."

"I killed the bastard who did it, Harry. That's the best I could do." Hermione dropped her eyes and clung to Sirius's hand.

"You need a Healer as well," Harry added after a moment of heavy silence. "Hey, Hermione. I thought you did that kind of thing?"

She tried to smile. "I would, but I don't know where my wand is. They took it."

Harry ran a hand through sweaty hair. "Well, we can get you a new one. Ollivanders, you know. Where'd you get yours?"

"Bertrand Moreau, in the Parisian Magical District. The Moreau family, there, is much like the Ollivanders are in Britain, I believe. I've read that most of the students of Hogwarts get their wands from him?"

"For decades. Centuries, even," Sirius said, his tone absent. "Oi! Remus!"

Hermione smiled at Remus Lupin, whose eyes gleamed amber in the summery afternoon. "Hello, Mister Lupin."

His smile was faint, but sincere. "Hello, Miss Granger."

She didn't give him the usual response, but leaned in to Sirius's side and tried to ignore the burning along her spine. "Good of you to come," she said instead.

"She needs a Healer, Moony. Can you take her back for me?"

"Dad?"

"Pads?"

"Sirius? Are you all right?"

"Fine, love. Just would rather not try to Apparate you in our current state. Harry'll take me."

Harry spluttered. "You, you trust me to side-along you when I only recently got my license?"

"You're my son," Sirius said, and there was something in his words that warmed Hermione clear through, easing the sting of the wounds acquired that day and filling her heart, which had been cracked and nearly broken not long before. "I trust you with my life."

Harry's eyes grew wet but he shook his head before nodding. "Fine, then. But we will have words about you Banishing Portkeys at me, Old Man."

Hermione laughed lightly, for Harry sounded like a crochety old man himself. "Well, Mister Lupin?"

"Mademoiselle?" Remus asked, offering his arm.

She took it and braced herself against the dreadful feeling of having no control over her Apparition.

* * *

 _Next chapter will be up Thursday morning, as per usual! Thanks for reading. ~ LJ_


	23. Chapter Sixteen: Words - Lots of Words

_A/N: My thanks to everyone who's reading, adding this fic, and of course a special cuppa to all who review. A deep curtsy to **Cecily Mitchell** , who caught review #1100! Color me blown away! _

_So here, there is a lot of fixing, talking, etc. Oh, and snuggling. Because fixing and talking should include snuggling. And, er, stuff._

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen: Words. Lots of Words.**

 ** _21 June 1997, Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch/Third Task Venue_**

Rita Skeeter, the reporter with the pointy glasses and the fuchsia quill, seemed to know exactly where Remus Lupin would be appearing, for she was poised with a question as soon as both of Hermione's feet were on the ground. Cameras flashed and voices called out and Hermione flinched from the bombardment to her senses.

She held up a hand, though the pain in her back was increasing and even such a small tug on her skin made her wince. "Where is Madame Maxime?" The question echoed around the group and she then caught sight of the headmistress, head and shoulders above basically everyone, moving swiftly forward. Hermione sighed in relief. "Good." Remus Lupin kept a hand on her shoulder as if to protect and steady her as the half-giantess arrived.

" _Hermione! Dear girl! What happened! It was a Portkey, was it not?_ " Her hands fluttered as if they were weighty, uncertain birds, and she made no actual physical contact with Hermione. " _I am afraid to hurt you, dear. We need to get you to—_ "

Harry arrived with a loud pop, Sirius in tow, just then and Remus all but lifted Hermione off the ground to make sure there wasn't a Post-Apparition Collision. "Hermione!" Sirius said as soon as he'd righted himself. Remus released her and she went to Sirius, hissing when he inadvertently smoothed his hands over the open wounds on her back.

"Lord Black! Mademoiselle Granger!"

"Hermione!"

"Harry Black!"

"Harry!"

"Sirius?" she whispered, angling her head up so that her words had only a bit of space to reach his ear. "Can we get out of here?"

He pulled her even tighter into his side. "I think they need to decide on a winner for the Tournament, love."

A blanket of weariness seemed to settle on her, making her want nothing so much as to sink to the ground and stay there. But she couldn't. She'd worked hard. She'd warded a dragon, mastered partial human transfiguration, flown over the bloody stupid maze, and been held captive by a dark lord's henchman. "Somehow, it doesn't seem as important as it did an hour ago."

His laugh heartened her and she remembered something else she wanted to tell him. "By the way. I'm not a student any longer. Took all my _BÉMAs_. Should have my scores any day now." The expression on his face was priceless. Surprise, pleasure, and that brilliant, mischievous sparkle that she associated with delight were all in his eyes. "I had _plans_ ," she added, figuring that they were being surrounded and she might as well get this out before she lost her nerve or got too tired. "Plans that did _not_ include a trip to an infirmary."

He touched his forehead to hers, hissed a little at the pain from the abrasions he'd obviously suffered, but still he murmured, "We will definitely have to make time for your _plans_. I have one or two of my own."

A shiver went up her spine that had nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with . . . "Forsythia," she whispered. The flower that represented _anticipation_.

He kissed her, then, there in front of all the reporters, in front of the all the Heads of School, in front of worried friends and surviving competitors. After a moment, applause bloomed like a summer garden and it grew with cheers for the other Champions who were perhaps following her and Sirius's example. If they were going to bring the best beloved into the Tournament, this was going to be part of the entertainment and damn the consequences. It was all over anyway. No matter who won, it was all over.

* * *

Plans. The woman had plans. The—what, promise? proposition?—lingered in his memory even as he braced himself to face the chaotic onslaught that surrounded them.

Remus was there, off to his right beyond Hermione. Tonks was there as well, though Charlie was back in Romania. Sirius did not want to inquire as to the intimate dynamics of _that_ configuration. So he merely nodded to his cousin, smiled tightly at Moony, and kissed the top of Hermione's head. Then he reached his other arm to Harry, who was holding on to Luna and was gratified when his son allowed himself to be tugged close as well. Beyond Harry was Viktor Krum, who had attacked him and Hermione but Sirius was fairly certain that it hadn't been of his own volition. He nodded at the younger wizard, meeting pained, dark eyes when Krum nodded back.

In front of all of them was a swarming mass of people. Well, Sirius decided he knew how to handle that and so he did. After squeezing both his son and his soulmate one more time, he released them and stepped one stride in front of them all. A silence fell as if it had been scripted.

"We're back. We need Healers, Hermione and I, but as we aren't dying—yet—I know you have questions. So do I." He smiled, first, and asked, "Who won?"

Ludo Bagman, sweat streaming down his face, hustled forward, hands outstretched as if to placate him. "Lord Black, please accept our apologies. On behalf of all of us in International Magical Games and Sports. None of us knew that the Winner's Cup had been tampered with. It was never intended by any of us and we hope you won't hold it against us or file suit with the Department."

As soon as the man had started what was clearly a rehearsed speech, Sirius had begun to get hot under his disheveled collar. "So what you're really worried about isn't that the Triwizard was infiltrated and its Champions—internationally known Champions—were put at great risk? You're worried about your legal reputation over the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Screams erupted from everywhere; panic was almost visible.

"Nice one, Dadfoot," Harry grumbled, his voice making reaching him underneath the insanity before them.

"Dark Lord?" Krum asked. He started to swear and the intent carried to Sirius even if he didn't understand a word. "Karkaroff!"

But the Headmaster of Durmstrang had disappeared.

Bagman, face white and hands shaking, drew near to him beckoned to the Champions and their Companions. "What I was trying to say was that it was decided that since the Final Task was compromised, the winner would be determined from the scores before the Task started." He was panting, clearly at the end of his wand, as he darted an apologetic glance to Krum. "We will be compensating you for the wrong done you during the Third Task. We don't know who _Imperiused_ you, but you will be compensated."

"Compensated? For damage to honor? For possible harm to others? There is no compensation for this!"

Harry took up the banner. "You put our loved ones in danger. They never signed up to become part of any Task. They were not bound to the magical contract, yet they were endangered most certainly."

"But we—"

Hermione cut Bagman off with a slash of one hand in the air. "The hostage scenario is supposed to guarantee the safety of the hostages, not the endangerment of them! This whole thing was a disaster of epic proportions!"

"But you won, Mademoiselle Granger! You won for your school! _You_ are the Triwizard Champion!"

Hermione tossed her head and Sirius saw the uneven fall of her hair as she did so and it hurt, inside. That she had been burnt to such an extent at any time was not acceptable to his inner man. "I won? Not for this Task. This was a construct designed by someone to resurrect an evil man and I _demand_ a full investigation as to why my soulmate—a sacred bond—was captured and injured and—"

Sirius pulled her against himself, effectively halting her words. "We'll tell them all of it later. Let's get you looked after."

"You as well," she demanded, her voice loud. "We need a Healer!"

"Wait! You-Know-Who is resurrected?" Rita Skeeter screeched before anyone could answer Hermione. "How do you know?"

Dumbledore then decided to join the conversation and Sirius, quite frankly, was quite ready to let him take it away so long as someone got his soulmate to a bleeding Healer!

Hogwarts's headmaster held up one hand. "Miss Skeeter." Cameras flared and Poppy Pomfrey worked her way through the crowd at last. Dumbledore didn't heed the matron, but instead spoke to everyone else. "Voldemort—do not scream, it is just a name and you give it power with your fear of an accumulation of letters—Voldemort was brought back to life this afternoon. I saw him with my own eyes, just before he was Apparated away by Bartemius Crouch, Junior. The Aurors, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt, will have more details later, I'm sure."

"But we thought that the Boy-Who-Lived killed him!" Skeeter cried, her tone demanding.

That set Sirius's back up. "Do not use that disgusting appellation regarding my son! He survived the obliteration of his family, but he is Harry James _Black_ and that is how you may address him. But not now. We, all of us involved in the Third Task, need food, something to drink, and a visit with Madam Pomfrey, here. Excuse us." Arm around Hermione, he waved to Poppy to lead the way to the nearest healing tent or wherever she thought to examine them. He waved Harry and Krum ahead likewise. Then, he started to follow.

"But Lord Black! Wizarding Britain needs to know what happened!" Rita was a ridiculous figure, running along and trying to keep up with him, though she wore spiked heels and a stupidly constricting set of robes. "We have the right to know if You-Know-Who has returned!"

"There is no 'if', Miss Skeeter. We've said he has, Albus Dumbledore and I. And I am sure the Champions will be prepared to be interviewed at a later time. _Excuse_ us."

At last, they were free of the mob, though followed still by Remus and Tonks. There was a blue tent ahead with runic markings on each side of it. He remembered seeing something similar at the First Task. "B? Is that a rune?" he asked Hermione.

"Beorc, or Birch. It's generally considered to be a healing rune. Birch is often used in healing rituals," she said. Her voice was soft, though, and sounded strained. "I don't mind saying I'm glad to see it, Sirius."

"Come, come," Poppy urged, using her wand to flip the tent's openings wide. "Let me see you all. Sirius."

"Hermione first," he insisted. The others all agreed. Though Sirius had abrasions visible on his face and throat, Hermione had visible gashes down her back. No longer bleeding, they were still red and angry and he wanted them treated immediately.

Pomona Sprout was in the tent as well, and the Master Herbalist helped to settle all the Champions on cots. Sirius went with Hermione, of course, and settled on the low stool next to where she'd been asked to sit. Poppy eyed him askance. "Sirius Black? I have to examine this young woman and—"

Hermione blushed and met his eyes with a rueful smile. "It's all right, Madam Pomfrey. Just, er, do you have one of those hospital gowns here?"

Sirius bit back the whole, "Didn't we do this already?" question that was bouncing on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he held the gown Pomfrey conjured and resolutely did not peek. "I did manage to keep my eyes closed before, Poppy."

"Hmph. I saw, Sirius Black. And I commend you. But keep them closed for just . . . another . . . there. All right."

He didn't have the intestinal fortitude to tell her he didn't close his eyes here in the tent. He didn't have to; Hermione already knew and was still smiling at him. Hers was the only opinion that mattered.

* * *

"Mister Black. All things considered, you got off quite lightly," Madam Pomfrey decided, healing a gash on his wand arm offering him bruise paste for his abdomen. "No internal injuries with this, and Miss Lovegood was still holding your hand, so you both came back in one piece."

Harry nodded; all of that was true. Luna took the paste from him and, seemingly ignoring the Healing Matron entirely, sat on the floor and carefully spread the paste all over the bruise on his middle. Despite his lingering pain—didn't Dad know that Banishing a Portkey into a man's gut was like hitting him with a Bludger?—he enjoyed feeling Luna's fingers on his skin. It felt a bit naughty, her touching him in front of people, but that added to his enjoyment, he suspected.

When she was finished, she smiled up into his eyes and he let himself just enjoy her peaceful contentment. "Thank you," he murmured. "You're very good at this."

"Yes, well. Let's not do it again, all right? I mean, you know, until Quidditch Season."

He grinned at her and reached for his shirt and he was really far too aware of how her eyes traced his torso as he did so. He might have taken an extra second or so, actually. The most wonderful thing about Luna, he had decided after going through the soulmate ritual, was that she saw him as Harry. Not as the Black Heir or the One Who Didn't Die. Just Harry. And she liked his body, which didn't hurt his ego one bit. He appreciated hers as well. "I'll do my best, love," he assured her.

She took his hand. "See that you do. Now, get dressed. I'm going to see how Hermione and your dad are doing."

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her there, gratified when her eyes went all starry like they did on occasion. "I'll be there soon."

* * *

The Healer nodded at the work she had done for the wound on Sirius's arm and the less dangerous abrasions he had elsewhere before turning to watch Hermione's progress.

"Now, can you touch your hands in front of you, Mademoiselle Granger?"

"It pulls, Madam Pomfrey."

"Hm. All right, then you need to use this salve and try to exercise the area at least three times a day, to make sure you don't suffer from mobility issues in future. The Dittany took care of the injuries that were smaller, so there's no scarring. Anything else I can't see?" she inquired with what Hermione presumed to be a feigned delicacy.

Under Sirius's careful gaze, Hermione stood and stretched carefully. Her back hurt, but that was being handled and she'd work on it daily as instructed. "No, just a bit sore. The wings rather take it out of me, if you know what I mean," she tried to explain, rolling her shoulders. At Sirius's soft snort, she added, "Not to mention flying with a passenger!"

Harry, Luna, and Viktor joined them at that juncture and Sirius rose to his feet to shake hands all around, as men tended to do each and every time they encountered one another. She opted to merely smile, as stretching her arm out was uncomfortable.

"Hehrmyoni," Viktor began, darting a worried look at Sirius. "Lord Black. I vanted to apologize. I vas cursed and vas not able to stop vhat I did. I vanted also to congratulate you on victory. Vell-earned." He bowed, still looking shamefaced, and was about to go when she held up one hand. Carefully.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Viktor. No harm done, anyway." She smiled and reached for Sirius's hand. She wanted him to back her up.

He squeezed her fingers gently and offered Viktor a formal sort of nod. "As she said, no need for an apology, Mister Krum. The whole Task was corrupt and you are not to blame for that in any way."

"Thank you. Now, excuse me. I must find Karkaroff."

"What was that all about?" Harry demanded.

Sirius sighed and gently touched his healed wounds. "It's a long story."

"Ahem?"

Harry and Hermione met each other's eyes. "Skeeter," they said in unison.

Sirius and Luna laughed lightly and Sirius tugged Hermione close to his side. "C'mon, love. It's not going to go away."

She looked at the bed, the bloodstains on the white sheets, and the cloths that had been used to clean her and Sirius up to a semblance of respectability. "That's true. I'd rather no one see this, though." She wished for her wand, feeling as if she were missing a limb when she remembered it had been lost. "Shall we go out to meet them?"

They all agreed to do so, each, Hermione was sure, telling a version of events in their own minds so as to make it as succinct as possible for the journalist.

* * *

 ** _21 June 1997, Lord's Suite, Hogwarts_**

Hermione hefted the cup, not entirely trusting it, even now that it had been examined by no fewer than three experts in Dark Charms and Magical Devices. Her name, school, and the year had been added to the silvery plates at its base. "What am I going to do with this?"

Sirius sighed and wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Use it as a nightlight? Harry used to want one, when he first came to live with me."

"I don't need a nightlight. Anymore," she added with a smile. "Though I did want one when I was younger. My au pair would let me have one, but my parents—due to their reading of many magazines—did not, as they believed it would have a detrimental effect to my vision."

"So who won most of the time?"

"I did," she admitted with a small smile.

"Here, let's put that down," he suggested. She gave him the cup and he took it as if the ponderous, formerly dangerous prize weighed nothing at all. Then he turned her and cupped her shoulders under his hands. "You all right, love?" His focus shifted from her face—now healed of stings, slashes, bruises, and everything but exhaustion—to her hair. "Sorry about your hair."

She sighed but nodded. "So am I." She touched the trimmed fringe and winced when she felt the return of the insane curls that had tormented her as a child. Between Luna and a house-elf, her hair had been reshaped, but she'd lost more than she would have liked to the fire of the small dragons. Her hair now fell to about her shoulders and though it was lighter, it was quite wild. "I worked a long time to grow it out to tame it. I can do it again." She moved, then, to slide her arms around his body and rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm so tired, Sirius. So very tired."

With a quick breath, he moved and she was in his arms, carried as if she were a bride to the wide bed. "So, let's get comfortable. I know you had _plans_ ," he said, smiling as he laid her gently down, "and I had some of my own, but I think tonight I'd rather just . . ." His face crinkled and he settled with little of his usual self-possession. "You said you were done with your studies, right?" She nodded, settling herself against the pillows at the head of the bed and extending her hand to him. He shifted and scooted and held her hand as he continued. The light in the room was low, aside from the bright intrusion of the Triwizard Cup, and she felt quite comfortable. "I'd just like to rest, then, if that's all right. Between the Task, the graveyard, and the journalists, I'm just ready to debrief, I think."

She nodded and turned a bit to nuzzle him at his waist. "Sure you're comfortable enough?" she inquired, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt at her nose.

He smoothed her hair with his hand. "I am. You?"

"I am," she said, indicating her loose sundress—something she'd retrieved from school on her final jaunt to take her final exam. "So," she ventured after having allowed herself the luxury of just breathing him in. "Do we talk about the soulmate visions? The fallout from Rita Skeeter and her obnoxious questions? Voldemort and where he is? The . . . pieces we might have missed? Meeting my parents?"

He laughed and shifted and next thing she knew, she had her head on his lap and was looking up into his tired face, framed with heavy locks of wavy black hair. "Meeting parents. Merlin, now that's not something I've had to think about since, oh, maybe 1981." He tossed his head back for a moment and she let the silence be. That year was the year the Potters had been murdered, she remembered. A Very Big Day in British Wizarding History. "So. I am of course on board with meeting your parents, love. When and where?"

"Well, there will be a ceremony at Beauxbatons . . . the carriages will be leaving tomorrow so that the practical parts of the _BÉMAs_ can be taken by the rest of the students. And the ceremony will be on the twenty-ninth. They will have it in the _Terrestre_ -accessible area, because there are a few of us who have non-magical families." She reached up to brush his jaw with her fingertip. "And I'd love to have you there."

Catching her hand, he kissed the inside of her wrist, as he had done months ago after the Yule Ball. "Right. That."

"What?" His breath on the sensitive skin he still had at his lips made her shiver in the most delicious way.

"Love. I love you. I know I said so earlier, but it wasn't what I had imagined."

Her throat went a bit dry and she swallowed hard before trying to sit without pulling her arm from his lips. "I heard you," she whispered as he moved quickly to support her back and, in very few motions, she was straddling his hips as he reclined against the headboard. "I love you, too. I think I fell somewhere in between velvet ribbons, an obsidian Grim, and your library . . ." She blushed, hearing the teasing of her schoolmates in her memory. "And I very much look forward to introducing you to my parents. Of course," she went on, wincing a little, "they might be rather . . . what was that term? Toad-eating. They're very big on politics and having Members of Parliament at parties and dinners and so on. So I apologize in advance and ask you to please not run off if they get all, all _strange_."

"I won't. I'm the head of an Ancient and Noble House, you know. It's something I grew up with, to an extent. Even though I ran off, I had to come back to it." He grimaced and she leaned forward to kiss the expression away. "I love you," he said again against her lips.

She repeated the declaration silently and there was no more conversation for quite a while.

* * *

The candles had burnt down quite a way by the time Sirius remembered that they actually were supposed to be _talking_ , this evening. There was so much he wanted to at least address, now that she was out of school officially and he was going to meet her parents—Merlin! Moony was going to give him regular hell over that—and there would be who knew what in the _Daily Prophet_ the following day.

Propping himself on one elbow, he caressed the skin he'd liberated from her light blue dress. "You have the most beautiful shoulders," he murmured, tasting them again.

She hummed contentedly, he thought. "So you've said. Yours are quite appealing as well." Her fingers skimmed over his bare arms, for his robes and shirt had been discarded as they were quite in the way.

He laughed. "Well, we've got the mutual appreciation topic handled. What was next on your list?"

She blinked and he could see her features squinch up as she brought whatever list she was keeping in her mind to the fore. "Soulmate visions?"

He was both eager and reluctant to do so and, while nuzzling her throat until she was almost purring, he wondered if he should put his shirt back on and re-attach her shoulder straps. But then, she turned in his arms again and bit lightly on the juncture between his neck and shoulder and he decided shirtless was good. "Soulmate visions," he managed to say, his voice rough, but she'd heard it rough before. "Right."

Her gaze was clear and focused when it met his. "Right. So. I saw that things were not . . . perfect? At home for you. Did you want to talk about that? I don't want to intrude, but you mentioned insight," she concluded softly.

"I did, yeah." He tossed himself back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. "You've heard that the House of Black has been a Dark House, right?"

"Yes." She rolled over atop him and he buried his nose in her hair and wrapped his arm about her. She was light and wholesome and all that his House hadn't been for a long time. "Even the Centaur warned me," she added.

"Really? Well, that is a surprise." He dragged his fingers up and down one of her arms. "My parents—my mother, especially—was a supporter of all things Pure-blood. She tolerated Half-bloods, especially if it suited her politically or financially, but she despised the Muggleborn."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Well, they also supported Voldemort, and they fully intended—Mother did, anyway—to offer their sons to the cause. My brother . . . little brother, Regulus, went along with it." He didn't share the pain, the frustration, but then he thought that wasn't fair so he changed his mind and did, telling her how hard it had been between him and Regulus and how untenable the situation was at home and then at school. "He went to Slytherin, and I don't know if you've sussed it out, but Slytherin and Gryffindor are not the best of friends."

"That has been rather obvious, yes. So you and your brother . . . ?"

"Basically mortal enemies. And I ran away from home to my friend's house. Harry's dad, James's family, took me in. We're cousins, anyway, so that was all right and tight. My parents were . . ."

"Abusive," she whispered. "I saw that."

"They were, yeah. Which was the other reason I ran. They hated that I Sorted into Gryffindor, hated that I didn't pledge myself to blood purity and all that that entailed, and so on."

"They would have hated me, basically," she stated without emotion.

"Basically, yeah." He smiled and held her tight for a moment. "But I'm a Blood Traitor now, so it doesn't matter. And I'm the Head of the House, so I've got the other Blacks in line, which will make our lives easier. I will, though, want you to meet my cousins and all." He could just imagine Lucius Malfoy having to play nice with the lady whom Sirius hoped already to make the next Lady Black. "Anything else like that from the visions?"

She drew in a shallow breath; he could hear the air scrape along her throat and he wondered what had affected her so. "The last time you kissed Remus Lupin. Your heart ached."

His heart ached again, just hearing how hard it was for her to say. Cuddling her close, he sighed. "It was years ago, love. Truly. I don't know why it came through, but it was not altogether a bad thing, you know. Not like the other memory. But you mentioned him before. When I told you I'd taken the potion."

She buried her nose against his chest and he enjoyed the feeling of her breath against his bare skin when she spoke. "I like him. He's a great guy, and I know he's mated and I know he's got Charlie as well. I just . . . I guess he's just so perfect for you. And I feel like . . . I feel like you're maybe perfect for me, Sirius," she said, her voice growing stronger as she levered herself up to look him in the eye. "And I can't help but wonder if we'll have a last kiss, you know?"

He didn't want to flip a quick answer back to her. He could have, but it might not do the job. Instead, he rolled them both over, slowly so she could stop him if she wanted, and balanced himself over her body. "I never want a kiss of ours to be a last kiss, Hermione. Unless it's the last one before we go to sleep. Or a last one before I have to go to the Wizengamot or you go to work at whatever amazing thing you want to do with your life." He kissed her then, brief and chaste. "And then, there'll be plenty of first kisses. The first one in the morning," he whispered, kissing her again, but lingering. "The first one when I pick you up for a lunch date. The first one after our first fight."

"We've done that one already," she murmured, "but we can practice for the next one."

He lowered himself to her, loving the way she immediately wrapped her thighs around his hips and scraped her fingernails lightly down his spine. She winced, then, and he stopped. "What?"

"Back. Sorry. It's pulling like this."

Ardor instantly cooled, he rolled off of her and slid her up so he could cradle her in his arms. "So sorry about that, love. Merlin, we'd need a whole new week just to talk about the Task and what happened after."

"Are you all right?" she asked, glancing at his arm, which bore a bit of a scar even after the Dittany. "Any aftereffects?"

"Just disgust that that . . . _thing_ used my blood to help resurrect himself. You know, Krum was sent to incapacitate you, right? So Junior—Crouch Junior, who pretended to be Moody—must have planned on having Harry win the cup and arrive for that." He shuddered, a bone-deep revulsion claiming his entire body for a few moments.

"But you got him to safety," she reminded him softly. "And even wandless, you were amazing. All I did was get caught."

"You stayed alive," he said, when her expression told him she was unhappy with herself. "And that, love, was the very best thing you could have done in those circumstances."

"He could have used a horcrux to do that, you know. You said there was a diary, and there had been Harry, and there was the possession of that teacher . . ."

A cold sweat broke down Sirius's back. "That means, there has to be at least another. Well, there was, anyway."

Hermione stopped tracing patterns on his skin and looked up at him, her eyes dark and serious. "The next number of magical significance is seven, you know."

"I really didn't need to hear that."

"Sorry." She snuggled closer in to him. "I love you, Sirius Orion Black."

It was, perhaps, the very best thing she could have said, so he kissed her again. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow they could figure out what to do with Voldemort and his soul pieces. And Harry and Neville Longbottom and the vow. And what was he going to do about the sure-to-be-colorful article in the _Daily Prophet_ the next day?

"Sirius," she whispered. "Do you want me to stay tonight?"

Tempting, but his mind was . . . elsewhere and, besides . . . "You said you had plans. Well, so did I, love. And _when_ I sleep with you," he promised, pushing her hair away from her face and skimming her skin with his fingertips, "I don't want it to be in a school. I was thinking someplace more private . . ." She smiled, her skin warm under his touch. "That was _my_ plan."

"Good plan."

* * *

 **A/N:** Oops, forgot last time, sorry, but not forgetting this time. To get a sneak peek into the next chapter, just cast the revealing charm: **_Aparecium_**!


	24. Chapter Seventeen: Things People Say

_A/N: Happy April! My thanks to all of you who are reading. I love hearing from you and getting the chance to interact with you personally. Makes me so happy. A cup of the good stuff to all who review, too! A special slice of gratitude to my dear friend **Katmom** who is good enough to read and send me fun email. _

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Things People Say**

 ** _22 June 1997, Hogwarts_**

" _I almost don't want to go to breakfast_ ," Hermione confided to the girls in the Beauxbatons carriage on this, their final morning in Scotland. " _I am dreading the newspaper_."

Yvette and Sophie each took one of her hands. " _You were magnificent in the Third Task, Hermione. And Lord Black was . . . perfection_."

" _And I took off my top in front of all of Wizarding Britain_ ," she stated grimly.

" _This is true,_ " Yvette acknowledged, " _but you were very careful and no one could see anything. Not really. Just that you were taking it off. Really, I've seen you topless at that beach we went to last summer before the end of term. You have nothing to be ashamed of_."

Hermione felt her face heat but she did not comment. Instead, she decided that what she had done in the maze had enabled them to fly to catch up with Harry and Luna, and _that_ enabled them to tie for the Task. Even though she would not have wanted to go the graveyard and see the resurrection of Voldemort nor how Sirius had been captured and hurt, neither could she abide the idea of Harry and Luna having experienced the same fate. So she had to be content with what had transpired and not be ashamed.

She blew out a breath and ran her hands over her insane hair, wishing for her wand. They'd be going back to France today and she'd already sent a request to Monsieur Bertrand Moreau to purchase a new wand. Sirius had insisted she avail herself of his Nebula, so she had done so.

"Ready?" Yvette inquired at her side. In English, which was sweet.

"I am. Will you be joining Neville for breakfast?"

"Yes." The girls, in one large group, left the carriage, chatting mostly in French. Yvette and Hermione, though, kept their conversation in English. "His grandmother has sent word to my parents. We are invited to visit this summer. And my parents have, of course, done the same." Yvette's skin, already a lovely teak, darkened with her blush.

Hermione had to smile. To think, it was her not-yet-a-relationship with Sirius that had opened such friendship doors for her with the girls of her school. After so many years. She would have to remember to thank him. "So, are you officially . . . official? Has he, well, asked?"

"Not officially, no, but, he will approach my parents this summer."

Hermione turned to take Yvette's hands in her own. "I'm very happy for you."

"News?" A male voice intruded on their so-feminine rush of laughter. "Anything you can tell me, ladies?"

"Lord Black!" Yvette said, appearing both gratified and shy. "Good morning. I'll, ah, leave you and Hermione, yes?" She smiled, silently asking Hermione if her leaving was acceptable.

Hermione nodded and then, uncaring who saw, twined her arm with Sirius's offered one. "Good morning, love," she murmured. "Sleep well?" His smile, a social one that he'd worn for Yvette's benefit likely, faded. "Sirius?"

"I wanted to make sure to be with you this morning." He pulled her aside just before they entered the castle proper, turning her so that her back was to any passerby. Her heart started to thud with worry and that horrible yet too-familiar nightmare feeling of being naked in a room with strangers. Again. Sirius ran his hands up her arms, which was soothing, but not nearly enough to make her any less about the wary determination she could see in his bright gray eyes. "Because I want everyone to know, without a doubt in their minds, that I stand beside you and support you."

"I'm going to hate this, aren't I?"

He dropped a kiss to her head. "Not all of it." With a small flourish, he produced a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "I had Connie—remember her from Farecliffe?—pick up my copy instead of getting it delivered by owl, today. I wanted to make sure to see it as soon as it had been printed."

"So you could warn me?"

He sighed, but smiled a bit as he nodded. "So I could warn you." Then, he handed her the paper, eyeing her up and down in a faux-salacious manner. "But maybe you should be warning me, instead. About how you look so sexy in a school uniform…"

"Sirius . . ." She shook her head at him, but knew she was blushing. The man was, bit by bit, relaxing her anxieties about going into breakfast. "And maybe it's because I'm not a student anymore. _I'm only wearing this to fit in_ ," she said, finishing in French, as that was the language she was speaking when they first met back in November.

"Ah, the student and the professor," he teased, wiggling his brows in an exaggerated manner. "Should I add this to your _list_?"

She would have answered, probably with a kiss or a roll of her eyes, but the headlines on the front page of the premiere source of news and information for Wizarding Britain claimed her entire reaction and she went slack-jawed for a moment.

On the top of the paper, she read: _You-Know-Who is BACK!_ and under the fold was _Beauxbatons Beauty Wins More Than Just the Triwizard!_

She winced as she saw the featured images for each article. For the first, there was a picture of Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts telling the crowd that Voldemort was just an accumulation of letters. The latter, though, was a two-part picture. The first half showed Sirius helping her get her armor back on after she'd removed her singlet. The second half was when he kissed her once they'd come back from the graveyard. It wasn't that she was half-naked in the first—nothing was showing and her armor had been in place by the time of the photograph—or that she was clearly wrapped up in the moment in the second. It was that she was not representing herself well _at all_ and that was frustrating and disappointing.

"All right?" Sirius gestured toward the paper. "Your hair . . . but the pictures weren't bad. I was more concerned about what was written."

"Oh." And Hermione dove into the second article. "Well, at least that Skeeter woman didn't write that one," she observed. "Andy Smudgley. Do you know him?"

"No. You, er, should read it, love, before we go in."

Not even remotely pleased at the prospect, she did so.

 ** _Beauxbatons Beauty Wins More Than Just the Triwizard!_**

 ** _by Andy Smudgley_**

 _Due to the findings of tampering and interference in the Triwizard Tournament—the Ministry must be at sixes and sevens to allow that!—the winner of the Tournament was held to be the Champion who was in the lead going into the Third Task: Mademoiselle Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons!_

 _The English born but French educated beauty had a total of fifty-five points, giving her a clear win over her male competitors. Despite their skills on brooms, the girl herself grew wings and triumphed. But the glowing winner's cup was not the only trophy she'll be calling hers. Hermione Granger has also won the heart of Lord Sirius Orion Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black! Yes, ladies, the dashing lord is officially off the market!_

 _Lord Black was chosen as Miss Granger's bound companion for the Third Task and he showed no displeasure with that at all. Indeed, the two were quite a team as can clearly be seen in the pictures above. One can only assume they've spent considerable time together away from official Tournament events!_

 _The Muggle-born witch, with her pretty smile and quick wand, must have many more skills than partial human transfiguration and an eye for flashy shields to have won the heart of this most eligible man. What other of her attractive assets has she shown him? They aren't talking, so we can only speculate!_

It only got worse from there.

"So, I'm basically an opportunist, charming you with my 'pretty smile and quick wand' to make you stupidly in love with me? You should sue them for defamation of character!" she said, whisper-shouting so as not to be heard within the Great Hall.

Sirius put his arms around her, crumpling the paper between them. "I'm so sorry they said that about you," he murmured. "I won't have your character—"

" _My_ character? I'm talking about _yours_! As if you'd be so shallow, so vain, to fall in love with someone for their looks or because they, they have to have a creative wardrobe moment!" She glared at him and was irritated when he smirked in response. "You are a man of high character, great bravery, and—"

"And you don't want to be seen as arm candy. I know. Believe me." He kissed the top of her head before moving and resuming their walk to breakfast. "Remember. Whether it was intentional or not, the same article also names you as the Triwizard Champion. No one who knows what that means will think you're just a pretty face, love. Even if your face is quite beautiful." He conjured a single red rose out of thin air and presented it to her as they reached the crowded Hall. "Come. I know you're dressed to suit your school, but you're not a student any longer, right? And I want to have you sit with me."

She huffed, but accepted his offered arm again as they strode in to breakfast. And stride they did; Sirius was apparently determined to lend her full—if unnecessary—countenance on the day the newspaper belittled her. They entered just as the owls—papers in their little claws—arrived. The newspapers were dropped according to the usual patterns and Hermione endeavored not to notice them as she and Sirius took the seats offered them at one end of the Head Table. He rated a chair there, she knew, because he was on the school's Board of Directors. That he had pre-arranged to have a chair for her was flattering and showed excellent planning. Which was, to her, extremely attractive.

"You know," she murmured under his ear as he bent over he whilst pushing her chair in so she'd be all settled, "all this effort makes me feel as if my _plans_ might be bested by yours, Lord Black."

She heard his rough intake of air and suppressed a smile. He cleared his throat, took his own seat next to hers, and tapped the teapot that was set at a convenient distance for both of them to use. "Plans. Yes. Well, introductions should come first, don't you think?" Then, his formal face dropped away to reveal a truly concerned expression. "Wait. Do your parents get the _Daily Prophet_ delivered to them?"

Smiling fully as the sound of rattling newsprint filled the Hall, she shook her head. "No. I go to school in France, remember. And they have no interest in Wizarding Britain."

He frowned. "None?"

"None." Then she shrugged and flipped her napkin to her lap. "They would much rather see me go into dentistry or local politics than they would to have me earn a Mastery in Transfiguration."

"Even if you learnt to become an Animagus?"

"Still on about that?" she asked, trying hard to avoid the wide-eyed stares that swept over them from at least a hundred pairs of eyes. "Having wings isn't exciting enough?" she teased.

"Oh, they're exciting. _You're_ exciting," he assured her. She blushed and he picked up her hand from where it rested properly on her lap, turning it over so he could kiss the inside of her wrist, as he had done after the Yule Ball. It always made her heart flutter when he did so. "And you'll just get me excited by talking about it."

"Excited?" She met his eyes and knew a smile was in her own. "And here we are, with an audience. Again. Alas."

His laugh delighted her. It always did.

After a quiet but sweet moment, she turned to pour them each a cup of tea. "So, do you think you've supported my honor enough to eat yet, Lord Black?"

He threw back his head in a genuine—loud, but genuine—barking laugh. "Am I that transparent?"

* * *

 ** _28 June 1997, Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons_**

"Sirius Black."

He grinned to hear her diffuse voice call to him, even if it was at two removes. Sliding the obsidian otter from a pocket in his black silk robes, he replied, "Hello, love. I've just arrived, so your timing is remarkable."

"I know you did. I, I felt you, Sirius. I've been, well, trying to sense your magic about since early this morning."

Surprise rolled through him and he lifted a brow, even though she couldn't see it. "Oh? I, I hadn't tried that before."

"Try now!"

Laughing lightly, he did. He didn't want to close his eyes, but he did let the sunlit fountain before him—where the Muggles were met for the graduation ceremony at Beauxbatons—blur before his eyes as he sought out his soulmate's presence. Her magic. Her heart, perhaps. There were many people here, magical and Muggle and some in between, but he knew . . . her. A strong presence. Feminine. Imbued with a sense of anticipation . . . Even the word got him randy, to be honest, ever since she'd used it in reference to her _plans_.

And there she was. Had it been the sensual turn of his thoughts that brought her clear to his awareness? There she was, he could feel her just within the walls of the French school. He felt that someone was with her, someone perhaps related—there was a similar feel to them. Love, he thought.

Ah, her parents had arrived. "C'mon, Padfoot," he muttered to himself, putting the otter back in his robes. "You're Lord Sirius Orion Black and the most brilliant witch anywhere thinks you're worth introducing to her parents."

He hadn't heard a lot about her parents, really. Just that they were older than he was by quite a bit, lived in a very nice part of London, were successful in their Muggle medical practice, and might be a bit toad-eating. They'd seen to it that Hermione had individualized care as a child and allowed her to go abroad to boarding school when her magic manifested.

It didn't sound like a close, involved family, but it was better than the one into which he was born. The closest family Sirius knew had been the Potters and he'd tried his damnedest to be as much like Charlus and Dorea as he could when raising Harry. He'd like to think James would have wanted that. Remus had been extraordinarily helpful in that regard—

"Merlin," he said on a heavy breath just before he reached the building. _If I have the very good fortune to marry my soulmate, then she'll be Harry's stepmum!_

The idea had him reeling—he honestly hadn't thought of that before—so that when Hermione appeared with her parents in tow, he had to struggle to regain his equilibrium. It was like seeing Hermione in a new light. The light of "mum". She'd be amazing, he decided in a heartbeat. Exacting, but amazing.

 _Merlin_.

"Hermione!" He smiled and moved to meet her, mindful of two watchful pairs of eyes on him. "You look beautiful." Wearing a white silk robe lined with Beauxbatons blue, she seemed to glow in the summer sunshine. He produced a bouquet of flowers for her, chosen from the greenhouse at Farecliffe and put in a stasis before shrinking them to a pocket-size, that incorporated all the flowers he'd sent her before.

She blushed, the color dusky, which only made him focus on her face and bright smile. "Thank you," she murmured, taking the bouquet and conjuring a vase with water for it, right there. She had a new wand which, when he indicated curiosity with a tilt of his head, she held up for his inspection. "Ah, yes! Monsieur Moreau's work, of course. And would you believe he charged me nothing?"

"Is that beech?"

"With a dragon heartstring core, yes. He laughed, you know. Remarked that at least it wasn't singed like the last dragon I met."

So caught up in reconnecting with her, seeing her appreciation over his floral offering, and seeing the new wand, he hadn't remembered her parents for the few moments that their exchange took place. But something uneasy blossomed when Hermione used the word "singed" and that brought him back to an entire awareness of their circumstances.

Hermione blushed again, clearing her throat. "Sorry. Mum, Dad, this is Lord Sirius Orion Black of Derbyshire. Sirius, these are my parents, Doctor Emma Granger and Doctor Daniel Granger, of London."

Sirius smiled his most charming smile, pleased when the female Doctor Granger smiled back at him. He took her hand and kissed the air over her knuckles. Like daughter, like mother: she seemed to like the old-world taste of the salutation. He then turned to the male Doctor Granger and shook hands in a thorough fashion. No stupid dominance games as he'd seen others play. He was Sirius Black and didn't play those games. He just shook the other man's hand in what he'd heard was a German manner. Three solid shakes with a nod at the end. "A pleasure to meet you both. Hermione is a remarkable woman and I know she didn't get that way without you." It was a hedge, that was, but he had to say something, didn't he? And he couldn't say anything about how beautiful she was in comparison—her mother was not _unattractive_ , but Sirius didn't see much of Hermione in her. Her father, perhaps, but it would not have suited a straight Muggle man to have been told that he was attractive by another man.

The American Wizarding business community had taught him rather a lot in terms of certain distinctions. Though not always observed in Britain, he had always decided that when in certain types of situations, a conservative approach was best.

He could be conservative. Occasionally.

"You're the gentleman who invited Hermione to the New Year's Eve party," Emma Granger stated smoothly. Her voice was like rough silk. "She has since written of you." The older woman's expression was a bit calculating, but her tone was generally pleasing. "Warmly."

Sirius chuckled and met Hermione's abashed gaze. "Well, I'd write warmly of her as well, if I had parents to write to."

"She also spent her spring holiday with you rather than with us in our usual villa," Daniel Granger reminded them, his voice hard and nowhere near as accommodating as his wife's seemed to be. His eyes weren't friendly; not even remotely.

"Dad!" Hermione protested, her voice low and edged. "We've discussed this. Enough. He has one of the most extensive personal libraries in the United Kingdom and I did extremely well on my exams, as you know. It was a wonderful opportunity."

Daniel Granger shook his head. "Fine. Never mind. I just want you to be cared for, Princess. You know that."

"I know, Daddy."

A bell sounded, pealing with a clear, light tone over the fountain's courtyard where families had gathered in clusters. Wizarding robes and Muggle suits wove back and forth amongst chairs and occasional tables. "Hermione," Sirius asked, endeavoring to shift their focus from Hermione's visits with him, "where should we sit?"

"Oh!" With a relieved light in her cinnamon-hued eyes, she waved her arm toward a bank of white chairs with silver and blue bands of color along the backs. Young men and women were escorting families to these chairs before smilingly disappearing back into the Beauxbatons castle. Or perhaps they'd say _chateau_?

"I'll see you in a little while," she told them.

Sirius, who had yet to even touch his soulmate, captured her hand in his and, in front of her speculative mother and concerned father, kissed the inside of her wrist. He let his lips linger, though, and felt her pulse speed for a moment before he let her escape. "See you soon, then." When she was inside, he claimed his seat on Emma Granger's left. "Your daughter is a remarkable woman. I first met her at the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament and she amazed us all, that day." He could see her in his memory, her rapid wand motions, fearless dragon-mounting, and the moment when he was sure she'd died from the dragon's fire. "When she fire-warded that dragon, it took everyone's breath away. Especially mine." He smiled with what he hoped was a reassuring warmth at the couple.

They just stared at him. "Dragon? She did what to a dragon?"

Merlin. He'd put his foot in it for sure. "Did she tell you she won the Triwizard Tournament?"

"That was the sporting competition, wasn't it?" Daniel Granger nodded with what Sirius guessed was supposed to be comprehension. Neither of the Grangers could be stupid—not with Hermione for a daughter—but they were clearly uninformed. She _had_ said that they had no interest in the doings of Wizarding Britain . . . "She'd mentioned that. Said that she had to defeat an obstacle to get the clue for the next competition, and she did."

Stunned, still not sure what to say, Sirius could only nod and murmur. "She was really amazing, too."

Daniel Granger grinned proudly, looking toward the _chateau_ where his daughter had gone to wait for the ceremonial entrance. "And then she said there was a flying competition and—"

Emma Granger nearly bounced on her seat. "And she'd managed to give herself wings! I made her show us the very first thing when she popped home at the end of her spring holiday." The woman blinked hard. "I kept looking for the mirrors, you know?"

Hermione's father continued with his version of the Tournament. "Then, she said the final competition was an obstacle course within a maze and that you went through it with her? She also said she still had her body armor, so it wasn't so bad."

"Except for her hair," Emma Granger said with a sigh, patting her own styled locks. "It was such a shame those tiny dragons got to her hair!"

Sirius cleared his throat, hurrying to speak as Madame Maxime emerged and made her way to the raised dais set between two crystal fountains. "Did she mention what happened after?"

As proud as any father after a Quidditch Match, Hermione's father nodded. "She said she'd won the whole thing. Did better than the boys, too." Another nod. "Could not have been more proud of her, Lord Black. Always knew she'd do it."

"Now," Hermione's mother said, leaning toward him a bit, "what we have to do is get her to show some interest in putting that competitive spirit to doing some good for England! Perhaps, as you're English, you might help in that regard?"

" _Bienvenue. Welcome. I am Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and we are here today to recognize the witches and wizards who have shown their brilliance and determination in completing their magical education. We want to extend a special welcome to all our Terrestre guests, who rarely get the opportunity to see so much talent on display_."

The Headmistress of Beauxbatons spoke entirely in French, but Sirius was pleased to see that Hermione's parents were fluent enough to follow along as the graduation ceremony proceeded. When Hermione Granger was lauded as being the top student in Charms and Earth Magics in her year, as well as top marks in all her exams as well as winning the Triwizard Tournament and bringing honor to the school, well, Sirius clapped as loudly as anyone. She beamed at him, her joy and pride flaring to reach him, and he could almost taste her magic.

It was exciting, but soothing. Stimulating and fulfilling. It was . . . love. All that she was to him. And he basked in the opposing but still perfect feelings of completion and anticipation as he waited during the rest of the ceremony.

He never showed her parents the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ he'd brought to share with them, though. Somehow, the idea of all of them boasting about their graduate and celebrating her accomplishments didn't include destroying the virtual Disillusionment Charm Hermione had cast over her magical life.

And though he was a bit disappointed, he didn't blame her. Her parents seemed determined not to incorporate her magic into their understanding of her. Perhaps . . . perhaps with all that was going on in the larger Wizarding world, that was safest.

So he kissed Hermione during the reception, admired her awards, talked government with her father and societal differences with her mother, and was even introduced to Hermione's professors, who had nothing but wonderful things to say about her.

Of course. He didn't, either.

"Is everything all right, love?" Hermione whispered under his ear when her parents were chatting with some other Muggle parents at the event. "You feel tense."

He shook his head. "Not tense, but I felt . . . off balance. I didn't know _how much_ your parents didn't know, Hermione. It rather threw me. But I figured it out."

She blushed and looked down and away. "They've never really tried to understand, and after a couple of years, I stopped trying to explain, you know?"

"I see that. So do they know about us?" He didn't want her to feel guilty. How she managed her family was her own concern, after all.

"They don't know about us being soulmates, but they know . . . they know how I feel about you."

"And your father hasn't tried to wring my arm off?"

She laughed a little. "Well, you're a lord, right? I told you . . . they're a bit grasping, that way. I'm sorry."

"Oh, they've not said anything." Which was speaking in and of itself, wasn't it? Of course it was. "Not asked about my intentions or anything . . ."

"Yet." She sighed and met his gaze again. "Wait 'til dinner. I think they're planning an assault."

"Just what we needed," he mused, pulling her tightly against him as they sat decorously at a small white table. "Another one."

"Why, Lord Black, did you have other _plans_ for the evening?"

"I do believe I do, mademoiselle, if I can act the Muggle Romance hero and whisk you away to my, ahem, estate in Derbyshire."

Her laughter caught the attention of everyone in three meters' radius. Her hand on his thigh kept _his_ attention, though, for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

 _A/N: Next time...plans. Yes, plans. That's even the chapter title. Mwahaha. I mean *giggle*. I mean, er, yeah. **Plans**. So, if you want a sneak peek into that chapter, just cast the revealing charm: **Aparecium**! It only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs!_


	25. Chapter Eighteen: Plans

_**A/N** : Welcome to any and all new Zest-y readers, and a cup of your favorite to all my regulars. :) Always a pleasure to see you. My curtsy today goes to **Amora-Ellanore** , who caught review #1200. Thank you!_

 _And now, what many of you have been waiting for...Plans._

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen: Plans**

 ** _28 June 1997, Farecliffe Hall, Derbyshire_**

 _"Just what are your intentions towards my daughter?"_

Sirius could still hear Doctor Granger's question reverberating in his mind as he accepted Hermione's guidance to the back garden of the Grangers' house in Lancaster Gardens. Hermione and her mother had been upstairs—perhaps for a brief "Do you know what you're doing?" talk, Sirius didn't know nor did he inquire—but had reappeared looking mostly serene.

Dinner—in a Muggle restaurant in London, which had been a quick change made due to the Doctors' Granger unfamiliarity with all things magical—had been smooth and polite, but Sirius had felt as if he were both on display _and_ on trial. Still, they hadn't objected when Hermione informed them of her intention to "attend a post-Tournament celebration" at his Farecliffe estate.

It hadn't been an entire lie, exactly . . . he had every intention of celebrating Hermione and the Triwizard _was_ over, so it was a "post" event.

 _"Doctor Granger, I consider your daughter the future Lady Black. Now I just have to persuade her," he'd said, causing the older man's eyes to bug out a bit._

 _"She's a bit young," the dentist had protested weakly. "And you're a man who probably has, er, the future to consider."_

 _"I have an heir already," Sirius had assured the man. "We'll be seeing him at the celebration. If Hermione is amenable, I would like to invite you all up to Farecliffe to meet my son later this summer."_

"Everything all right?" Hermione murmured at him as she waved goodbye to her parents. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and but was still wearing the red silk dress she'd worn for dinner. Merlin, the way it draped over her body had had him relieved there were tablecloths and dim lighting at the restaurant.

He lifted his wand, nodded his own farewell to her parents, and answered that things could not be better. Then, they Apparated.

"Connie!" he called when they'd arrived outside the gate. Hermione wasn't yet keyed to the wards, but he'd do so as soon as she had his ring on her finger. Any ring; he wasn't going to be particular. She was young, as her father had pointedly reminded him, and becoming Lady Black might not suit her for a bit. But he'd declare himself regardless, because she was worth it.

"Lord Black is calling Connie? Oh, Missy Otter!"

Hermione laughed, the sound low and pleasant in the long gloaming of the June evening. "Missy Otter? Connie, have you seen my Patronus?"

"Connie's be seeing it! And the solid one. The one Lord Black holds when he talks to Missy!" She held out her hand, small fingers beckoning expectantly. "Well? Connie needs Missy's bag!"

Half laughing and half dismayed, Hermione allowed Connie to take her bag. "Where will she put it?" she wondered.

"My room, unless you've objections?"

* * *

His room.

He said it so smoothly, that she might have been a bit put off by the assumption except for the way his hand sort of convulsed around her own and the way his eyes narrowed with insecurity. "No objections," she murmured after a moment.

He relaxed immediately and they stepped through the gate Connie had left ajar. He closed it with a casual wave of one hand. "Shall we Apparate or would you like to walk?"

Her heart started racing like a crazy thing. She had plans, yes. She'd been visualizing them, virginity aside, for quite some time. They hadn't taken place in Derbyshire, however. They'd all been, well, nearer to home. The library at his Kensington house. The library at Beauxbatons. Even the library at Hogwarts!

However, it appeared her plans were going to happen here and Hermione swallowed down her nerves and decided yes, she was the Triwizard Champion and she had seen the Dark Lord Voldemort and had affirmed his resurrection to many media outlets over the last few days and yes, yes, she could do this.

Right?

So she tugged Sirius around to face her and wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck. He smelled like leather and man and fresh air and she sighed into the small space between them. "I'd like to just stand here, if that's all right."

His grin beckoned one of her own as his hands slid and moved and pressed her silk dress between his skin and hers. Oh, the confidence of his hands. The knowledge of her they carried, the way they made her feel . . . hot and brave and beautiful and loved. "Anything for my soulmate," he whispered.

"Kiss me."

He didn't immediately claim her mouth, as she'd rather expected. Instead, he held himself utterly motionless, his eyes bright and intense in the darkening evening. Then he dipped his head and brushed her temple with his lips, moving to caress her face with them, making her shiver in the warmth he brought her with such a light touch. He moved his fingertips lightly over the sides of her breasts and she sighed against his skin.

"Sirius."

"I know you have plans," he said into the hollow underneath her right ear. "So do I." Heat was gathering between her thighs and she wanted nothing so much as to abandon all plans—his and hers—and just . . . surround him with everything she had. "I want to taste you," he murmured before the tip of his tongue slid on her skin. "I want to hear you." Her breath caught as he bit gently into her flesh. "I want to immerse myself in you." She felt how much he wanted that when he tugged her with a quick motion to press his hidden erection against her stomach. "But I know you have plans as well."

When he distanced himself slightly, she wanted to whine her displeasure. "I do," she managed to say clearly. "Where were your plans going to unfold?"

His smile was white and mischievous. "My room, of course. Harry won't be back until lunch tomorrow. Remus is with Charlie in Romania for a week, and no one else is here excepting the house-elves. Of course," he went on, surrounding her arms with his hands and caressing her with a possessiveness she found intoxicating, "my room includes a lot of space. Where do _your_ plans unfold, _mademoiselle_?"

"The library."

* * *

The library.

Sirius blew out a breath, said the words on a whisper, and pulled Hermione tight against his body as he Apparated them directly to the library. He knew just where to take them, after all. That same bit of sturdy shelving they'd snogged at during her spring holiday. No elves would be there and if any sneaky soul had indeed moved furniture, it wouldn't be in the stacks of his own library. It was, he rationalized in the half-second he took to consider the matter, safest to go there.

"Your wish is my command," he quipped as she shook her head and settled her shorter curls about her shoulders. He still had one arm around her middle, and loved the feel of the silk heating up under his fingers. "So, the library?"

She blinked and leaned into him. "Indeed."

"And what did your plans entail, _mademoiselle_?"

Her skin darkened with a deep blush. "Well, you had mentioned oral exams, when I was last here. And then, there's the whole 'do new experiences make you nervous' issue I'd like to remedy." For all the smooth clarity of her words, it was obvious that she was rather shy about mentioning _sex_ as such.

He didn't want to push that, either. Because playing with words was how they originally got acquainted and he considered it a playful part of who they were. "I had mentioned the orals, yes." With a quick shift of his feet, he had her backed against the shelf. Her eyes widened as she braced herself on either side. "I imagine, Miss Granger, that any professor worthy of the name would demonstrate appropriate levels of skill."

An odd sound keened from her and he watched her throat constrict as she swallowed. "That is sound educational theory, Professor Black."

He loved that her voice had lost the cool overtones. Smug? Yes, yes he was, rather. He'd brought Hermione Granger—the woman who'd pranked him effectively upon introduction, the woman who faced a dragon with a confident grin and a wand, the woman who'd demanded an accounting of the International Games Minister about the disaster of the Third Task of the Tournament—to a place where she was losing her composure. He wanted to make her lose it _all_.

"Let me demonstrate," he suggested toward that end.

And he did. He'd been wanting her, thinking about her, dreaming about her, imagining her taste on his tongue. Months, he'd been preoccupied by this woman. He fully expected that to continue, but with much better information.

He claimed her lips, loving how she welcomed him immediately, without coy hesitation or playful reluctance as might have been indicated by their wordplay. This was _foreplay_ , which was an entirely different matter. "First, for an oral exam, we need to prepare our exam station," he murmured after he'd kissed the breath out of both of them. Skimming his palms up her body, he cupped her breasts through the silk of her dress.

She was not wearing any obvious lingerie and he went rock-hard in a heartbeat. "I may," she whispered thickly, "have started early on station preparation."

He had to laugh and he did, eagerly lifting her dress up and over her head. His mouth went dry. "A G-string. Excellent choice. I think if I'd known this was all you wearing at dinner . . . we would have all had take-away."

Her own chuckle cut off abruptly when he knelt and suckled one hard-tipped breast into his mouth. They both moaned as he massaged her other breast, and he could feel the heat rise from her body as the vibrations from his voice further stimulated her. She plunged her fingers into his hair and tugged, which made him shift enough to switch his attentions and she moaned again, her thighs loosening against his torso.

"Sirius, _please_ …"

"I read somewhere," he murmured against the under-curve of her breast, "that a good teacher demonstrates _technique_." Nuzzling her, he also traced the muscles of her legs as shown to best advantage by the heels she wore. "Merlin, Mione, I don't know if I've got the patience to demonstrate any more."

"Then don't!"

"Fine. I hope you're taking notes," he managed to say before he gave up on any semblance of romantic delay for the nonce. Instead, he gripped her bum in both hands pressing his nose into the skin at the crease of her thighs, delighting in her carefully groomed mound as he inhaled her musky, spicy fragrance. "Red notes, to match your knickers," he said in an aside before he pulled hard and broke the damned things to get at her. _Her_.

And he paused, hearing her breath come in rasps, watching her breasts heave, feeling her hands linger in his hair, combing the strands restlessly. "You're beautiful," he whispered. His object for this "lesson" was merely to get her to come for him. Shouldn't feel so overwhelming, perhaps, for a man of his experience, but he was suddenly struck by the magnitude of what he wanted. "You're ready?" he asked, looking up to check her eyes.

They were hooded, molten pools and her lips were swollen and parted as she answered, "Teach me, Professor Black."

"You're comfortable?"

She moved against him, so much so that her own beckoning scent wafted up his nose. "Not yet, but I want to be. _Please_ , Sirius…"

He wasn't going to make her ask again and, sliding one of her thighs to his shoulder, he bit lightly at the skin leading up to his goal for this "lesson". She panted, one hand on his head, the other clutching at her own leg. Closing his eyes, he dove in to her, brushing her clit with his nose whilst opening his mouth wide to send hot breath over her sensitive folds of skin. Skin that he could taste without even touching it, she was so very ready for him.

But he did touch it. With two long, luxurious strokes, he licked her up and down, tasting her, relishing her response to him. Feeling her muscles clench, hearing her voice climb with nonsense notes and gasps as he held her tightly to his face. When he moaned into her skin, she bucked against him. When he felt her tighten, he slid one finger into her, pressing, testing, and she clenched down all around him. And when he devoted his tongue to the sole worship of her center, his hand entirely occupied with her core, she screamed his name, coming with a vibrancy and flavor he could only delight in as he felt himself come likewise, in his trousers like a teenaged boy.

He didn't laugh, but smiled at his release, glorying in her and the way she made him feel as he gently disengaged from her, offering her full support as he rose on unsteady legs to wrap her up against himself.

"All right?" he asked.

She laughed a little, sounding overwhelmed, which made him feel ridiculously, stupidly proud of himself. "More than," she admitted. "And I'll have you know," she went on to say, slowly tilting her head up and catching his gaze in her own, "that I'm already trying to figure out how to demonstrate my comprehension of your subject matter."

"I adore you."

She shivered, a smile in her eyes. "I know."

* * *

She could smell herself on his lips as she pushed up to kiss him. Hesitantly, as she wasn't sure if she liked the taste herself or not.

"I love it," he murmured, sliding his hands up her naked body to cup her head and kiss her with a thoroughness that left her in no doubt as to his pleasure. She tasted herself on his tongue and he ground his hips into her, nearly growling.

The sound got her hot again. "Plans. I have plans," she insisted after tearing her mouth from his. When she licked her lips, he watched, his gaze focused as a hunter's. She was held there, poised between her plans and his for a long, heart-pounding moment. Then, she shook her head and acted. "You have far too many clothes on, Lord Black, for my plans."

He laughed softly and aided her in divesting himself of the _Terrestre_ suit he'd worn for dinner with her parents. Off with the red silk tie. "Did you charm this to match my dress?" she wondered, briefly distracted as she wound the fabric through her fingers before draping it around her own neck.

"Er, no, but it looks perfect on you."

She quirked a smile at him. "Thank you." As he had tossed his coat over the shelves behind him, she moved to unbutton his gray-striped waistcoat and classic white shirt he wore. Then, she reached skin and felt herself grow a bit languid as she pushed all that fabric from his torso. "Ah, the tattoo. I want to see it."

The tattoo was not on his upper body; this much she knew from prior exploration. She suspected his bum, but he'd laughingly refused to tell her, before. "You'll have to look for it," he'd said airily.

"Keep looking," he advised in the library that evening.

"Challenge accepted." The more quickly she got him as bare as she was, the less self-conscious she felt. Shoes? Gone. Socks? Gone. Trousers? Gone. _Black silk boxers?_ "Sweet Circe." _Wet_ black silk boxers. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and breathed in the scents of his climax. Salt, that essence of Sirius that she could smell all over his body. _Him_. At his most primal. Soaking black silk. "I don't know why this is so hot," she muttered, "but it really is." With a quick breath, she blinked and looked up at him. "Maybe because it's the library."

He twitched before her eyes; his refractory period was rather outstanding. "It's a good plan," he said, his voice thick with strain.

She bit her lip and decided to just . . . do it. So she carefully slid his boxers down his thighs, making sure to brush his . . . _Sweet Circe and all the Fae_ . . . thighs with her hair and cheek as she did so. He considerately stepped out of his underwear and she tossed them to the shelf where his coat waited. And then, she scraped her nails up the backs of his thighs because she loved how that felt and imagined he would as well.

He did. "Merlin, Mione." His erection sprang to rigid attention but she merely blew on it a bit. "Witch, you have an exam, don't you?" he managed to remind her.

She smiled impishly up at him. "Tattoo first."

Sighing, he actually stroked himself—right in front of her face—as he turned slowly around. "There."

On his right arse cheek was a set of three dark figures: a dog, a stag, and a wolf. There was also a patch of pale, hairless skin that seemed to be scarred. She traced the shapes she saw with her fingertip and, when he gasped and ground out her name, she grew brave and used her tongue.

"Going for top marks?"

"Do you need to sit down for that?"

"No, but turning around might . . . help."

Satisfaction welled within her, as well as a healthy lacing of curiosity. She guided him around and was relieved to see he wasn't stroking himself any longer. That was her job. So she did, ghosting her fingertips over the hot, proud length of him. His gasps were very gratifying as she blew a warm puff of air over his sensitive skin. She'd not done this more than once but she did her best, gripping him firmly she and licking a long line from the base of him to the tip, hearing him hiss and managing not to smile about it.

When she took him in her mouth in one deep effort, he swore. Loudly. And before she was really able to do more than get a fair start on making him swear some more—relishing the taste of him, the throbbing flesh she felt in her hand, the way his muscles clenched as he fought his probable instinct to thrust into her (her prior attempt at this had ended with a rather enthusiastic boy trying to do so)—he pressed her head with the tips of his fingers. "Stop. Or. Your plans are going to . . . come undone."

"Promise?"

He laughed a little. "Hermione!"

She smiled up at him and stood slowly, sighing aloud to feel the heat of his arms as they wrapped around her. Then, she gathered the last of her courage and met his bright, burning eyes. "My plan was to lose my virginity in a library, Lord Black."

"I'm on board with that plan, Mademoiselle Granger."

And he proceeded to show her how much he was on board. With a triumphant sort of sound, he swept her off her feet and strode—yes, he _strode_ —to the large worktable in the main section of the library. The windows were not curtained, and the sky was dark. She hadn't noticed, as he'd managed to light candles where they were in the shelves. But now, without even a wand, Sirius closed the draperies and left them in a candlelit space that was suddenly much more intimate than the Black Library had heretofore felt.

Then, he Summoned his wand and cast a series of silent charms on the table, still whilst holding her, and she held tightly to him, loving the way his muscles moved under his skin.

"You're amazing," she murmured.

"You're _worth_ amazing." He grinned at her and lay her on the table.

It felt nothing like a table. It was warm and soft and she sighed, relaxing and letting him do with her what he wanted, for her limbs went all soft and pliable. "Is it like this because you're my soulmate?"

He crawled up on top of her, his body's heat hovering over her skin, to kiss her with gentle possession. "Like what, love?"

"Feeling so safe. I'm not even anxious at the moment. I feel," she sought the right word, tracing patterns in the skin at his shoulders and thankful that all her wounds were free from pain at last. "Confident. Cared for." She paused and waited until his eyes met hers. "Loved. I feel loved."

"You are. And you'll feel even more so later," he promised with a grin that flashed white in the intimate shadows of the library.

His lips ravished hers, but he withheld his weight from her. Though her body yearned for a fuller, more complete contact, the part of her mind that was still thinking, still checking off her "plan" points, realized that she was on a _table_ and, even charmed, it would not be wise to make her the willing center of a sandwich of that nature.

Then, her mind lost the ability to keep track of much of anything as his lips, tongue, and fingers worked magic on her. Literally. Spells she had no knowledge of sparked her skin to bring her pleasure, while his tongue was naturally magical when he slid off the table and once again feasted on her. Then, as she was climbing and seeking that edge, that sharp, shining edge of release, he stopped and stood, rubbing the length of his erection against her. She could hear the sounds they made together, the smooth clinging, the panting.

That was her. That was him. And all at once, she had had it. "Sirius! Please!"

"Spells?"

"Earlier today, good for twenty-four hours," she assured him, wishing they'd mentioned it sooner.

He laughed and looked a bit sheepish, but he still slid the tip of his heat through hers. Up and down, bumping her sensitive clit each pass until she was ready to throw him on the floor and mount him herself, virginal pain be damned. Her whole center seemed to be reaching for him, as if she could grab and hold him—there—and bring him into her.

"Easy, love. We'll get there," he said, catching her knees with his hands. And then, he lifted and separated her thighs and slid in without further fanfare. "Oh, Merlin. Hermione. You're . . . perfect," he said, his eyes half-closed.

She had steeled herself against anything from outright ripping agony to a painful pinch, but there was only the sense, for her, of a _parting_. He watched her face as he entered her. "All right, love?" he asked in a tone that conveyed respect.

"More than." She smiled as some tension in his shoulders eased and he pushed entirely in to her. "Oh . . . Sirius . . ."

His body was glorious. She watched the synchronicity of movement as he strove inside her. She had nothing to do but _feel_ , as he held her legs captive and she couldn't touch him with anything save her toes. It was luxurious. And if she hadn't felt so safe in their relationship she might have felt laid out and vulnerable. But no. Not with him, not in any negative way whatsoever. Instead, she was treated to a most sensual experience with astonishingly minimal contact. He struck nerve endings inside of her that he wasn't even touching.

She rocked up to meet his thrusts, watching him keep her anchored so as not to fall. He held her in the crooks of his arms, his movements steady, then faster, watching her all the while.

Like a predator. A hunter. A _Grim_ , perhaps.

She clenched around him, working her muscles the best she could to get him to gasp, to watch his eyebrows lift in shock as she surprised him. Wavy locks of hair danced at his jawline and he started to make the most wonderful, guttural _sounds_. "Mione," he said over and over. "Merlin, love, please come for me. I'm dying here."

She needed more, though, and his hands were busy so she used her own, which made him swear again as her own fingers reached her clit and worked it as she knew was most effective for her as the brand new sensation of being completely filled did the rest.

And then, as her tension peaked, she cried his name again and snapped. All at once, she came with the startling feeling of him within her and then coming himself, his whole body jerking erratically before tensing in a beautiful show of orgasmic pleasure that she vowed to remember for the rest of her life.

He tugged her down to him before rolling her boneless body up into the strength of his. She had no words, other than an inane "thank you" to offer him, so she said nothing. She merely pressed her lips to his heated skin and sighed.

"You have the best plans," he murmured into her passion-mussed hair.

"You have the best _hands_ ," she countered.

He laughed soundlessly against her and sighed with contentment. Sometimes, plans worked out beyond all expectations.

* * *

Morning didn't intrude too heavily on Sirius's awareness until he realized that the woman in his bed was actually his Hermione, not a figment of a vibrant, sought-after dream. He caressed her bare shoulder lightly, wanting her to sleep if she was so inclined, and watched her. Lips parted, hair in a riotous mass of curls about her head, she slept like a woman who had been thoroughly loved the night before.

And he wanted to wake up to her every single day for the rest of his life.

He'd lived for years with Remus in his bed, and that had been good. Comfortable, safe, passionate, loving, all those things. But Hermione . . . she made him want to be better. To see more clearly, feel more deeply, live with verve and enthusiasm and watch her do the same. He smiled, shifting to lie on his side and watch her face scrunch up when her hair tickled her nose. He could imagine her, round with their child, making faces in her sleep. He could see her waking up with a smile for him, or with that preoccupied expression she had at times when she was thinking hard. Their life could be centered here in Derbyshire if she liked, or in London near her parents if she preferred . . . A life filled with Important Things, undoubtedly.

A life of love and laughter. He could see it in his mind and wanted it with a power that left him nearly breathless.

Until he remembered that life would not be filled with love and laughter. Not while Voldemort was out there again. And he was. Likely that very day calling his minions to him and planning to kill Harry to handle that bloody prophecy.

Well, that would have to be handled first. Keeping his voice soft, he called, "Krinkle!"

His personal house-elf appeared, wearing a black tunic with white embroidery. "Lord Black?"

"Papers from the last two days, a pot of tea for me and my lady, and a quill and parchment."

"Yes, Lord Black."

Propped up in bed with a cup of tea, he perused the papers and saw that yes, the Ministry was all about preparing Britain to stand against You-Know-Who. Sirius had to get back to the Wizengamot. And the American investors would have to be assured that their money was safe. And the werewolves would need more protection in case Voldemort went after them as he did the last time.

He scribbled down notes in his less-than-careful script. He saved the studied calligraphic writing for poems and letters for his lady, and he enjoyed the process, but this was _work_. He had to make sure the Aurors were funded and reinforced. Get the Reserves prepared for the werewolves and any families. And find out where those bloody horcruxes were so they could destroy them and make Voldemort vulnerable.

Harry . . . he had to protect his son. There had to be a way to finish this without risking his son.

He hadn't been aware that he'd been muttering all of this aloud until he heard another voice.

"There is a way. Just get a sniper. Or something, right? Find him and take him out." Hermione had awakened whilst he'd been busy and she pushed her hair off her face with one hand and pulled a taupe colored sheet up with the other. "Good morning, love. What are you doing?"

He blew out a breath and decided to be honest. "Making plans. Because I realized something rather important whilst you were sleeping." He watched her face and caressed her cheek with the feather of his quill. "I want to wake up with you for the rest of my life, Hermione." She blushed, smiled, and scooted closer to him on the big mattress. "But," he said when she looked like she'd speak, "I can't even think of that seriously until we're safe. You, me, and Harry."

Her blush faded and her cinnamon eyes went into a hard focus. "Horcruxes. We need a plan. In addition to assassinating the Dark Lord Voldemort."

He handed her the daily papers, offered her tea, and the pair of them spent the next hour making notes, with supplies Krinkle and Connie brought to them.

Eventually, the little elf who was tasked to Hermione cleared her throat. "Missy Otter and Lord Black? Youse be needing breakfast. Enough plans!"

Plans. Sirius sighed, looked at the parchment scattered all over the bed, and laughed quietly. "Merlin. I honestly had one or two of my own I wanted to carry out this morning, Hermione," he said apologetically.

"We have time," she said, taking one hand in hers.

He dropped a kiss to the inside of her wrist and nodded. "Yes, yes we do."

* * *

 _A/N: Next time, Harry and Luna arrive and, well, you'll have to wait and see. ;-) Have a good weekend!_


	26. Chapter Nineteen: Setting Up the Pieces

**_A/N:_** _With my thanks to all of you, and you should give_ _your_ _thanks to_ ** _Shayalonnie_** _, whose review inspired me to go back into this chapter and make a quick addition. Because I'm evil and I adore her._

 _This chapter gets some things in train so we can go out and meet our doom. Or something._

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen: Setting Up the Pieces**

 ** _29 June 1997, Farecliffe Hall, Derbyshire_**

"Oh, Harry, this is beautiful!" Luna spun about on the path up to the manor house, her hair catching the light of the summer sun, her dress floating about as if gravity did not exactly apply. "Why would you ever go to school?"

He laughed. "To meet you, of course."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Sometimes, you are so very much your father's son, you know?" With a tilt to her head, she added, "And he's waiting for you. It's safe now."

"We're late, now," he countered, lacing his fingers with hers as their feet crunched over the gravel nearest the kitchen herb garden.

"If we'd been on time, we would have been too soon!" She tossed him a significant, speaking look and he blushed, comprehending. "So everyone's safe now," she said again.

"Good. That's good." He opened the kitchen door and called out that he was home. Krinkle, his dad's valet, appeared. "Krinkle. Are my father and Miss Granger about?"

"Yes, Master Harry. They're in the library." Luna made an odd sound, but Harry didn't look her way for fear of losing his composure in front of the venerable house-elf. Krinkle always appeared so very dignified and his ears were unfailingly erect, no matter what was happening. Eyes that were so deep a blue as to be almost black completed the picture of, perhaps, the most conservative house-elf in Britain.

"I've heard of Lord Black's library," Luna remarked as they each nicked a chocolate biscuit on their way out of the kitchen. "It's quite famous among the girls at Beauxbatons."

Harry heard the edge of something playful in his girlfriend's voice and caught her hand in his. "What have they heard about our library?" She smiled up at him, a bit of chocolate crumbling at the corner of her mouth. He dipped his head and caught it on the tip of his tongue and then she had her whole body wrapped around his and he forgot the topic entirely. Instead, he pressed her up against the wall and pressed his hard planes into her yielding curves. "Moon," he murmured against her lips.

"Night." On the word, her mouth opened for him and he entered, loving that she tasted like chocolate and, well, _her_.

They'd snogged before, of course, but he tried to be careful at school and such. Here though, he was _home_ and home meant no prying eyes or worries about her reputation or his own. So he relaxed a bit and enjoyed how she felt against him. She was a slender witch, but her curves fit his hands to perfection and he filled his palms with her breasts, knowing she loved it when he rubbed their peaks with his thumbs. She lifted one leg up to his hip and he leaned more completely into her. When she started moving against him, little sounds coming from her throat and into his mouth, it was as if a fire lit in his chest, a fire made of nothing but the best and most arousing warmth.

"Oh, there," she whispered, the sound barely reaching his ear. It was enough, though, to make him move _there_ and she bucked against him. He could feel the heat of her, even through their clothes, especially when she grabbed his arse and pulled him even more tightly against herself. She was rarely shy, his Moon. She was brave and wise and . . .

"Harry . . ." Her voice rose a bit, with the edge he'd only heard maybe once, on the night of the soulmate ritual. He knew what it meant, though, and he kept pressing into her, as if they were really having _actual_ _sex_.

His own orgasm was imminent, he knew that, but his dad had told him (in a conversation that had ranged from embarrassing to amusing) that ladies always came first, so he did his best to make that happen, thrusting against her, hearing her pants and small, mewling cries until she caught her breath hard and went totally still.

Then, he followed her off that silent cliff where they'd been once before together. Yeah, his jeans were a mess, but that's what cleansing charms were for, right?

"You all right, Luna?" Her cheeks were pink, her lips pursed in an O, and her eyes were closed. She opened them at his query and he saw nothing but contentment and love there. Relieved, he held her against him and spun to switch places, doing a quick series of charms to take care of clothes and wrinkles and, er, _spots_.

"Thank you, my Night." She ran her hands up his chest then back to his hips. "You take such good care of me."

"You're mine," he said seriously. "I'll always take care of you." Of course he had to kiss her again.

They got rather carried away—again—before hearing a very loud throat-clearing. "Pup?"

Luna was laughing when he pulled his mouth from hers. "Hello, Lord Black!"

Harry saw his dad and Hermione standing comfortably a few paces away and dressed in a manner that Harry knew his dad associated with "weekends at home". Jeans and a concert t-shirt from the seventies for his dad, jeans and a floral something for Hermione. Neither of them wore shoes. "Dad, hi. Hermione, good to see you. Congratulations on graduation and all." It was weird to see her with shorter hair but he didn't say so. "Had a lie-in today, did you?"

"Not much of one," Dad said. "Luna, good to see you as well."

"Hi, Luna!"

"Hermione! Were you in Lord Black's library?"

Harry was still baffled when Hermione's blush indicated he was missing out on what might be an epic—or embarrassing—joke. He opened his mouth to inquire, but Hermione rapidly changed his mind.

"Actually, we were, Luna. I've got something I want Harry to see. Harry?"

"Yes, Mum," he muttered, his feet taking him automatically toward the corridor that would lead to the library. At their collective intake of breath, though, he halted. "What?" He darted an instinctive look to Luna. "What did I say?"

Luna, eyes wide and smiling, answered, "You called Hermione 'Mum'."

Heat swept over his whole face as he looked first to Hermione, who was standing there as if she'd been hit by a Bludger, then to his dad, who was beaming all over his face, eyes crinkled and bright.

"You're a bit early there, son, but we can talk about that another time, yeah?"

"Library," Hermione whispered. "Let's just go to the library, shall we?"

Accordingly, they went, Harry watching how his dad and Hermione held hands comfortably on the walk, and he wondered what the hell he'd missed since the last time he'd seen them together, days ago at Hogwarts. He and his dad were going to have to have a talk.

Then, they entered the library and he saw that someone had been hard at work. Embarrassment forgotten, he and Hermione faced one another as Dad took Luna off to one side. Sunshine streamed in through the windows nearest the work area, and all the chairs had been moved somewhere so that there was only one large table with pictures and parchment pieces on it.

"What's going on?"

Hermione nodded and laced her fingers together in front of herself. "I was thinking, you know, of how to get around your vow without having to wait for Neville to get his Apparating License."

Jolted by the sudden change of atmosphere and topic, Harry could only nod. "Right. Should we ask him to join us here, then?"

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary, but if you think so later, you can, I guess?" she added with a glance toward Dad. "You mentioned that you knew how to destroy a horcrux, but you couldn't say how, due to the vow. A horcrux is a dark object, and I was doing research on how to destroy them in general. Different ways, you know? So, what I've done is lay them out, in pictures or descriptions, and you don't have to tell us a thing. You can simply pause or something nearest the method that you know works, if it's present."

He didn't even feel a burn on his wrist, and Harry marveled. He'd thought of many ways to work around the vow, but this was the only one so far that hadn't even triggered the pain. "Wow." Swallowing, hoping the pain would stay away, he moved around her to the table. "So what do I do?"

"Just walk around the table and look at all the pictures and parchments. If the one you used is there, you can just pause by it and move on. I am hoping," she said, her voice a bit strained, "that it won't trigger the vow, but if it does, Luna? Can you intervene?"

His girlfriend laughed lightly. "Oh, I'll be happy to distract him, Hermione. No worries, there."

"Dad?"

His dad, all laughter gone from his expression, nodded slowly at him. "You don't have to tell anyone anything. I never, ever want you to be hurt by any vow you took, even if it was ill-advised."

"I was a lot younger, then," Harry said in excuse.

Dad snorted. "I've heard that before. Merlin, I've _said_ that before. Go on," he said, jerking his chin toward the table. "Take a walk."

Luna was watching him carefully, so he felt that she'd _See_ if something untoward were to occur. He knew she was sensing him, using their soulmate connection as they'd practiced doing on occasion, and she'd probably jump on him and snog him to near breathlessness if she thought his mind was near to violating that Unbreakable Vow. "All right, then," he said to Hermione who stood, hands still clasped tightly together, near the table.

He noticed it was very quiet. He didn't mention it, worried that any question might trigger an adverse response to the Unbreakable Vow. Making his steps light, he moved about the table. There was a picture of a silver knife on one piece of parchment. On another, an Arithmantic equation he didn't recognize. Next, he saw what looked like mandrake root and arrows to a powdery pile image and a teacup picture. Neither of those were what he wanted so he kept moving. A simple line on another parchment that read, " _libera animam meam_ " which he didn't know, but guessed it had something to do with freeing something, due to the word _libera_. Nothing on the table looked right but then, he reached the far end and saw a snake. Not just a snake, though, it was a _basilisk_ and he froze. Because the picture had been presented as a whole and then below the top picture were smaller ones. Fang. Eye. Skin. And something that seemed to gleam dully on the parchment: blood.

He paused, blew out a breath without looking at anyone, and moved on towards the door of the library, holding out a hand for Luna. He had to get away from that picture. From the fear that he'd say something and lose his magic. From the worry he'd do something he couldn't even imagine in the odd, powerful blend of feelings that overwhelmed him at that moment.

"Harry," Hermione called.

He didn't look at her, but held still whilst Luna wrapped around him like a vine. He would not speak.

Hermione didn't make him. "One more?" she asked softly.

He turned, then, to see that Hermione had cleared the table of all but four images. Fang. Eye. Skin. Blood. One at each corner of the table. He looked hard at the fang and Hermione Banished the pieces of parchment before producing two more from who knew where. Drawn beyond his own wish, Harry moved back to the table. There was a fang, still, and a large image of the tip of a fang with what had to be venom.

Sweat broke out all over him. Luna spoke.

"That one, Hermione. He went all cold and clammy. He can't say, but it's the one with the venom. And now I need to get him away. I think I might take a ride on his broomstick!"

Harry barely heard the startled snorts in the library as Luna led him out of the library and back into the sunlight of the Scottish afternoon.

* * *

 ** _30 June 1997, Hogwarts_**

Sirius held Hermione's hand as they sat in two velvet upholstered chairs in Albus Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts. The older wizard held up a crystal bowl. "Lemon drop, Miss Granger? Sirius?"

"No, thank you," Hermione replied, her voice smooth and cool.

Sirius didn't have time for pleasantries; he had to be at the Wizengamot after lunch. "Albus, we needed to talk with you. I asked Harry to wait at home but I do want him included once I know what you know."

Albus sucked thoughtfully on his sweet, leaning back in his chair of carved, aged oak. Looked almost Norwegian in its carvings, Sirius had noted once, back in the days when he and Prongs had snuck into this place. All the little gadgets still hummed away as Albus stroked his beard.

"What did you wish to talk about, my boy? Is Harry all right?"

"Harry's fine. We're here to talk about horcruxes. More specifically, where they might be."

Dumbledore choked on his sweet. Hermione lifted her hand and, with a wandless spell, Summoned the candy from Dumbledore's mouth, causing it to stop a handspan from her own hand, and then Banishing it to the Floo. All without saying a word. Watching her, Sirius understood his soulmate was making a point.

The old wizard coughed, smoothed out his beard again, and had a house-elf bring him a goblet of water. It never seemed to occur to him to offer anything to either Sirius or Hermione, but Sirius guessed that was all right; they'd given the man a considerable shock. "Look, Albus, you mentioned some of this before, months ago. You can't think I've let a direct threat against my son go uninvestigated."

"And young Mister Longbottom. Don't forget him!" Dumbledore reminded him, forefinger poised as if in declamation. "They both have to be protected and trained."

"They have been," Sirius said. "But you know more than you've let on, Albus, and it's time to share it. Because you do not want me calling you out on this in front of the entire Wizengamot, which I assure you I am entirely prepared to do in order to get as many minds united in this search as possible."

"No! You can't!"

"Of course I can. So. We know what horcruxes are and who made them." Dumbledore darted a disbelieving look at Hermione, who merely held his eye without comment. "But my girlfriend, here, is Muggleborn, as you know, and she has some ideas on how to find the Merlin-damned things so that we can make sure that Voldemort has no more anchors to mortality. Then, to fulfill that fu— er, _bloody_ prophecy, Harry has to kill him."

"With as little cost in lives as possible," Hermione added. "We know that there are Death Eaters out there," she went on, glancing down at her arm that had been pierced that horrible day in Hogsmeade, "but if you strike the head off the serpent, the body will die eventually. One way or another."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, pretending a confidence he didn't entirely feel. Albus Dumbledore was reputed to be the only wizard whom Voldemort had feared, during the last Blood War. There had to be something to that, something the old man knew of Voldemort's life or death or vulnerabilities . . . something. While he waited for the headmaster to get his thoughts in order—Albus was clearly stalling—Sirius remembered how Hermione has posited the idea that they needed to do a criminal profile on Voldemort.

 _"A what?" he'd asked._

 _"In England, there are law enforcement agencies. You know that, right?"_

 _"Right."_

 _"The most effective of them, like MI6, profile offenders. Study them to get a better idea of where they might strike next, perhaps, or to have a better idea as to their motivations."_

 _Harry had looked as if he'd been hit by lightning, almost. "So, so we can find out what he might be thinking when he made the horcruxes. And what else might be one?"_

 _"Exactly so!" Hermione had actually smiled at his son and Sirius had felt pulled, suddenly, from the urgency of the moment to remember when Harry had inadvertently called Hermione_ Mum _._

 _Later,_ he told himself in Albus's office. _Later_.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, turning to open a rune-bedecked teak cabinet. "What is it you need from me? What kind of information do you think I have?"

"You know Voldemort better than anyone on this side of the war," Sirius said without inflection. "The Muggles investigate a criminal's background to understand his motivations for future crimes." Hermione shifted a bit and Sirius could tell she was eager to just demand the information, already. He squeezed her hand in his and felt her relax a bit. "We want to know what you know, so we can try to determine what he might have used to make horcruxes."

"That knowledge is dangerous," Albus said in a soft voice. "And if he knows you're looking for them—"

"He'll move them, we know." Hermione couldn't sit still anymore, apparently, but Sirius didn't interrupt her; her methods might have the merit of unpredictability in persuading Albus to give over and tell them what they wanted to know. "We have a plan, Headmaster Dumbledore. A plan to destroy them. Of course, now that he's resurrected, it might be difficult."

She glanced at Sirius, and he nodded and picked up the conversational baton. "We want to collect them and destroy them all at once so that they cannot be used in any more resurrection attempts." He purposefully brushed at his arm where his blood had been forcibly taken from him. "And then, we'll take care of him."

"Destroy them?" Dumbledore blinked and spoke in a rasping voice. "Horcruxes?"

Sirius lifted Hermione's knuckles to his lips. "My brilliant lady, here, was instrumental in figuring out one way it could be done." They had all decided, Harry included, not to mention Harry's knowledge of this at this time. Too many questions might be asked and he still had that damnable vow hanging over his head.

"Merlin's broom," Dumbledore whispered. "This is quite distressing and I must tell you I cannot in good conscience let this information go beyond you and your son, my boy. And of course Lady Longbottom and young Neville."

"Well, you're going to have to," Sirius shot back, coming to his feet with enough energy to make his Wizengamot robes flutter about him. "Time is short and I will not have my son live under this bloody prophecy a week longer than he has to. So you will tell us and you will do so now. Or do I need to bring it before the Wizengamot? I have to be there this afternoon for a vote but I am always welcome to bring in new business. The House of Black will not be denied."

Hermione had risen with him and they both stared at Dumbledore and, though the matter was indeed urgent, Sirius couldn't help the welling of pride within him to see her look every inch a Lady Black. He really needed to make that official.

Dumbledore broke down after a full minute of silent confrontation. "All right. Come tomorrow morning, then. I'll have, well . . ." He pressed his lips together and cast his gaze toward the tall, stone ceiling. "I have a pensieve and memories. Memories I meant to show Harry and Neville before they graduated from Hogwarts, by the way. I wouldn't want them to go out to meet their fates, either of them, without sufficient information."

Information Albus meant to dole out in meagre doses, controlling every little bit, Sirius was sure. He remembered the way it had been with James and Lily, Frank and Alice.

"Will tomorrow morning suit you, Hermione?"

She tossed her head a bit. "I can reschedule the appointment with the Potioneer."

"Internship," Sirius said, to throw Dumbledore off the trail.

"Quite," Hermione agreed with a nod. "It's quite prestigious, especially since I'm not yet eighteen."

They took their leave, then, though Sirius felt his irritation thrum loudly within him. "Damned controlling dragon," he muttered once he and Hermione had returned to the Kensington house.

* * *

 _ **Kensington House**_

She wrapped herself around him, pressing her body against every inch of his, and rubbed her hands up and down his arms. "He is, rather, and you know that better than I do. But still, tomorrow you should have answers."

"We'll have answers."

She nodded before resting her head against his chest. "We'll have answers. And we can try to figure out what and where those things are. And we'll destroy them, Sirius. We will. And Harry will be safe."

Sirius appreciated all that she was saying but he was struck, all at once, by how incongruous it was to have her do so. And he knew why, so he sought to remedy that. "Krinkle!" Hermione made to move a step away, but he held her close to him when Krinkle popped in to the drawing room on the ground floor. "Bring me the casket," he told his elf-slash-valet. When Krinkle left to do his bidding, Sirius moved his hands to cup Hermione's face. Dittany had taken care of most of the scarring, but there would always be a bit of a reminder of her time in the Triwizard Tournament, he could see in a slight scar on her left cheekbone. "I am rather in awe of how much of your, yourself you're putting in to this business," he confessed.

Her skin heated with a slight blush but when she would have ducked her head, he held it where he could see her eyes. Then she smiled with a wry air. "It's important to you, Sirius. I love you. Of course it's something I want to help with if I can. And I have," she reminded him with the barest hint of a saucy tilt to her chin.

He held that chin in his fingers and kissed her lightly. "Thank you. It's . . . it's a boon to my House that you are so invested in its future."

"Future?"

"My son." She nodded, brows furrowed. "When I found him, after . . . after James and Lily had been killed . . . I made the decision never to let anything come before his safety and wellbeing."

"Of course, Sirius. No one could expect you to."

Warmth surged in his chest as he held her close again, pressing her tightly to him, feeling the way she yielded herself and promising silently never to make her doubt her wish to do so. "However, I met you, Hermione. And we're soulmates. And I want you with me for the rest of our lives." When she moved a bit restlessly, he kissed the top of her head. "Let me finish. If you'll have me, I want to be your husband." She stilled utterly, not even breathing as far as he could tell. Surely she wasn't surprised; he'd talked around this before. "But I feel like I can't quite do that until this, this is over. That you're investing yourself in my House, my Family, though, makes me want to."

Her breath exhaled on a long, soft sound. "Want to what?"

Krinkle had popped in—silently, as house-elves can do at need—and was waiting near the door that led to the front hall. Sirius nodded at him and Krinkle walked with dignity, bearing the casket in both hands, his dark eyes solemn. "Lord Black asked for the casket."

Sirius parted from her at last, moving to open the casket whilst Krinkle held it for him. "Thank you, Krinkle. I want, Hermione, to make sure you know how much I love you and honor you. Not just for helping with what we'll be working on tomorrow, but also because you're just the most amazing woman." Heart pounding with a sudden fit of nerves, he lifted the ring he'd chosen for her from the casket. It was platinum and it held diamonds and sapphires in a band with a star sapphire in the center. A smooth gem, it flared with a natural magic. "This was in my family vault," he said, holding it in one hand and taking her hand with the other. "An heirloom piece." He met her wide brown eyes with a small smile. "I had to check the pieces, you know. My House has had that whole blood purity obsession for so long that many pieces of jewelry were cursed. But this, this is free from curses of all sorts and is only charmed to fit your finger. If you say yes. Hermione. Will you marry me?"

"I'd, I'd be honored, Sirius. Yes." She laughed a little but tears were in her eyes and he was immeasurably relieved. "I say yes."

He slid the star sapphire engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand and felt it tighten to fit her slender size. "Thank you."

Krinkle cleared his throat and bowed. "Miss Granger is welcome to the House of Black," he said, his words clear and slow. "I will tell the others." With another bow, he popped away.

"It's beautiful, Sirius." She was still staring at the ring. "I've never seen a star sapphire before."

"It suits you. Beautiful depth with a heart of fire."

She blushed again and he pulled her into his arms, sealing their engagement with a kiss that felt more significant than any they'd shared since New Year's Eve, here in this very house. When Harry had almost caught his old dad snogging.

 _Harry_. He pulled away from the lush taste of her lips. "I'll need to tell Harry before the house-elves do."

"And I'll need to tell my parents."

"They're expecting it," he said on a laughing sigh. She cringed. "Just wait. Next, I have to alert the papers."

" _Beauxbatons Beauty Bags Black_. I can see it now."

They exchanged a look and a smile, which grew into a chuckle, and then a laugh. "Want to come to the Wizengamot with me? We can make the announcement there."

She blew out a breath, eyes wide. "Is that before or after you tell Harry?"

"Right. Later. Now, lunch and then . . ." He shook his head, took her hand—the one with the ring on it—and continued. "Now, I'll key you in to the wards here, we'll eat, and then I have to go. I am sorry."

She brought his hand to her lips. "We can celebrate tonight."

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry I forgot last time. Yes, I have a peek into the next chapter, titled _Putting the Pieces Together,_ for you! Just cast the revealing charm, _**Aparecium**_ , if you wish to see it AND are logged in and accepting PMs.


	27. Chapter Twenty: Putting Pieces Together

**_Major Author's Note:_** _I am taking it for granted that you, wonderfully flexible readers, know the contents of Dumbledore's revelations regarding Tom Riddle. So I am not going to detail them here. Instead, Our Intrepid Principals are going to take the info and hit the ground running. This is an AU, and my horcrux functionality is different than canon, so yes, I know that. You might have picked up on it already. I'll be more explicit here._

 _Meeting our doom, remember. Thank you all for taking this trip with me! You really are fantastic readers and I enjoy interacting with you. Today's bow is directed toward_ ** _cochran4444_** _, who caught review #1300. Wowza!_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty: Putting the Pieces Together: Part One**

 ** _1 July 1997, Kensington House, London_**

Hermione had a _Terrestre_ Biro and notebook to hand, its pages already yielding that distinctive sound of overwritten paper that has been much handled. With a frown, she looked up to see Lady Augusta Longbottom eyeing her a bit askance. Rather, eyeing her writing materials. Hermione managed to smile at the older witch whilst flipping her hair back with her left hand. The one with the ring on it.

Sirius began pacing in front of the hearth, fingers clenching and unclenching in a restless rhythm. "I wanted to strangle the man," he said at length. "He's known _all these years_ and he kept this information from us."

Harry, who was sitting next to Neville, shot Hermione a look as if to say, _You're the one who wants to marry him. You calm him down!_ But before she could even think of what to say, Sirius turned on Harry and Neville both. "And _you_ two. Augusta, your boy needs to get his Apparating license. Yesterday. _Basilisk_ venom, Harry. I have not forgotten that."

Neville and Harry gripped their wrists and Hermione imagined they were both thinking about their vow.

Hermione tapped her pen on her notebook. "I know that the, the memories were hard to watch," she said, trying to keep her voice calm as Sirius all but glared at her. She knew his frustration was directed at Headmaster Dumbledore. "But the most important thing to do first is find out what we can learn from Riddle's psychology insofar as we can judge it and then we can maybe figure out where he would have hidden his soul pieces."

"Do you have to sound so abrupt, Hermione?" Harry's exasperation was flaring from gray-green eyes. "Doesn't Beauxbatons teach tact and diplomacy?"

Hermione angled a brow at him. "With every single lesson, yes. But Tom Riddle, the man with the acronymic appellation, is not terribly strict on such matters, is he?" She looked to Sirius. "Well? What can we learn?"

Her fiancé scrubbed at his jaw, stopping his pacing to lean against the ornate, white mantlepiece. "Right. Dumbledore said the soul anchors are used to bring a soul to a resurrected body. We don't know how many of these anchors he's made but we're guessing there were originally three but he's had to use one of them for that day in the graveyard. One was the one in Harry's head. And Dumbledore says a third was a diary."

Neville and Harry exchanged significant winces.

Lady Longbottom cleared her throat and flicked a piece of likely imaginary lint off her gray skirts. "It is highly unlikely that he'll stop there. Even if he can make new anchors with every incarnation. Unless we can put him on the chair before the Wizengamot, however, I fail to see a totality of comprehension. Therefore, we can only try for the best and then, as you mentioned before, Sirius, kill him." She sniffed. "My Neville will be sure to do his part. We've been training them for years."

Hermione still had not wrapped her head around the fact that two boys younger than she had been in training to basically fight a war their entire lives. "Yes, ma'am," the boys—young men—said in unison.

"Hermione mentioned a sniper," Sirius said. "Would you tell them what you mean?"

"Well, since I imagine that neither Harry nor Neville are adept in, er, _Muggle_ firearms?" A roomful of shaking heads answered her. "Then, we'd have to find a way to get Riddle to a place where both the boys can attack him." She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on her embroidered chair. "Though I think it's dreadful that there is a prophecy that basically says two young wizards have to kill someone outright."

Sirius crossed the room to her and knelt on the floor so he could look up into her face. "It is dreadful, love. You heard how he wanted Harry . . . that day." Tears came into her eyes even as her stomach clenched in protest of the mere _idea_ of Sirius losing his son. "He thinks it's real, and we have to figure that's his endgame. So that's how we will act." Still on his knees, he turned to Harry and Neville. "I'm thinking both of you hit him with simultaneous spells, depending upon what is deemed best when we find him. Or," he went on with a look at Lady Longbottom, "we can get Kingsley Shacklebolt to touch up a contact on the Muggle side for something more, er, explosive."

"You've seen air strikes?" Hermione asked, running one hand over Sirius's hair because it was there and she could and she imagined it might bring him some comfort.

Standing, he drew her up with him. "No, but I have watched a lot of Muggle news, especially in the seventies." He smirked at some private memory. "Prongs and I, we'd go to Muggle London and stay in a hotel once in a while. It's what we did for his stag party, actually."

Harry seemed to perk up. "So no actual stags at the party? Because you were in Muggle London?"

Sirius smiled, his eyes brightening with happy thoughts. "Oh, no. He still became a stag. He just did it in the hotel suite."

Neville burst out in a loud guffaw that made Hermione grin. "A stag. In a Muggle hotel. A stag!" He kept repeating that over and over and eventually he and Harry acted out the probable scene, with Sirius correcting them about spacing and so forth.

Hermione crossed the room to Lady Longbottom when the older witch beckoned rather imperiously. "If you'll take my advice, Miss Granger, you will have a professional plan Sirius's stag party. But if you wish to have a hen party, I offer Longbottom Manor."

Shock had Hermione's jaw drop open for a moment. "That is very kind of you, Lady Longbottom. I hadn't had time to consider, but I'm sure that would be splendid. Thank you." She felt compelled to curtsy, but managed at the last minute to refrain.

The matron's lips twitched. "Really. You'll be Lady Black soon enough, I daresay. Call me Augusta."

"I'm Hermione."

And they shook hands on it, much to the astonishment of the men, who had just that moment remembered there were ladies in the room.

* * *

 ** _4 July 1997, Wizengamot Chamber_**

"So I propose that each House and Line represented here in the Wizengamot commit to funding the annual salary of at least one Auror for a period of three years at the outset in order to provide for the increased numbers expected to be inducted into the Corps. In addition, I recommend that all N.E.W.T. level students at Hogwarts be taught by an Auror at least once a week, to prepare them in aggressive dueling." Sirius cocked his head and eyed the entire body of the Wizengamot. "Have to get those Aurors prepared somehow and studying Hinkypunks, however useful, won't save their lives if another Hogsmeade fiasco happens."

There was a loud affirmation after he finished his little speech, and he continued to stand in case there were questions. No questions on this matter arose, however, though he could hear a variety of comments from those nearest him.

"Were you there? Oh, how is your son doing now?"

"Ah, I heard about that. Everyone all right?"

And so on. Until at last, Lucius Malfoy, of House Malfoy, applied the Sonorous to himself and called, "Lord Black? I understand you and your son were there in Hogsmeade that day?"

Wary, Sirius answered that he had been. "Why?"

"Rumor has it that you rescued a student, that day."

"There were two young women my son and I freed, literally, from the clutches of a Death Eater, yes. Miss Luna Lovegood and Miss Hermione Granger. Both have since recovered."

"Isn't your, well, _emotional_ involvement influencing your insistence on having all of us help to fund an expansion of our Auror Corps?"

Sirius angled a look at his cousin-in-law. Oh, through Narcissa, he'd kept the Malfoys clear of involvement with Voldemort, but he and Lucius were never going to be good friends. They could barely stand one another at annual family gatherings. Still, he had to say something to the purpose. "My emotional involvement is legitimate, for Miss Granger has consented to become the next Lady Black. I am sure that anyone who had a loved one in Hogsmeade that day—or at the Quidditch World Cup last summer, or in _any_ of the less prominent attacks—would feel that enlarging the Corps at this time is a wise move."

"The next Lady Black? Sirius," Lucius's posture slid from formal to less so in a heartbeat and his tone became more the one used in those annual gatherings than in a formal declamation. "She's a Muggleborn. Surely your House requires—"

"Do _not_ , Lucius. She is my chosen. She is a woman of power and strength, intelligence and compassion. She will bring honor to my House. Which it sorely needs, no?" The name _Bellatrix_ hung in the air over the chamber and not one voice rose to argue.

Instead, after the business of the day, Rita Skeeter insisted upon an interview, her smile far too predatory. Pushing her aside with the very real reason of having business to attend to, he sighed and hurried to the lifts. It was nearing dinner time but he was going to be late.

The _Daily Prophet_ , the next morning, was not terribly kind, but neither had Rita tried to skewer Hermione's reputation. Still, he held the obsidian otter in his hand as he read the paper.

"Hermione Granger."

There was a bit of a delay and then, "Sirius, hello. I'm with Potioneer Belby at the moment, love."

"So early?"

"Well, he had the time, and I had to reschedule, remember?"

"Ah, right. Does he have . . . any?"

She was meeting with as many potioneers as she could, seeking someone who had basilisk venom in a quantity large enough to destroy horcruxes. Of course, they didn't know how much they'd require, so that had become a frustration for his lady. "Not at present, no. Do you know anyone else I could try?"

It galled him a bit, but Sirius sighed and said, "Severus Snape. I'll owl him. He's a professor at Hogwarts and he has . . . connections." Not savory ones, to be sure, but they were running out of options.

* * *

 ** _5 July 1997, Lancaster Gardens, London_**

The Patronus was gorgeous. A fully corporeal stag. It arrived in her suite of rooms at her parents' home—she never really thought of it as _her_ home, though she supposed she ought to—whilst she was changing for her meeting with Severus Snape of Hogwarts. Apparently, her fiancé knew how to knock on doors to some effect.

"Hermione, Nev and I have news. If you can, come to the London house. Dad said you were keyed in. Hurry!"

After checking herself in the mirror, she spelled her hair into her travel-ready bun, checked her black pencil skirt and crisp white blouse with the French cuffs to make sure she started off in good form anyway, and slid into the sensible black pumps she had chosen to wear. Severus Snape, her research had told her, was a no-nonsense individual and a dour fellow by all accounts. Still he was a Master Potioneer and that garnered her respect. Reserved and dignified it would be, then. After she met with Harry and Neville.

Being keyed in to the wards at Sirius's London home meant she could Apparate straight into the lower drawing room, which she did. It was not the first time she'd done so, because she and Connie had practiced the day she had been keyed in, but it was the first time she'd Apparated to the house independently. Harry and Neville were waiting, poised by the fireplace. Did they have a Floo in the lower drawing room as well? She didn't _think_ so . . .

"Oi! Hermione!" Harry said jumping and turning to greet her. "You hurried, didn't you?"

"As requested." She slid her wand into her Apparition-proof bun and confronted the boys who had interrupted her morning schedule. "I have an appointment with Severus Snape shortly, however, so . . .?"

Neville grinned brightly at her. "Who am I to delay the Triwizard Champion?"

"Oh, give over!"

Neville wiggled his brows playfully and then, with a twirl of his wand, he Apparated!

"Oh!" Shock zipped through her even as Harry rocked back on his heels with every appearance of smug triumph. But her mind was already plotting what this could mean for them. The vow! How to destroy a horcrux! They could get started on the list they'd made!

Harry snapped his fingers, recalling her to the room as they heard a popping sound in the kitchen not far away. "Hermione?"

She nearly lunged for Neville as he re-entered the room. "Sit down, both of you. Tell me how you did it."

At this, the boys looked at one another. "It'd be all right to tell Hermione," Harry murmured to Neville, who was frowning, anxiety in his eyes. "She's going to be my stepmum right?"

"But Gran and your dad said not to tell anyone."

"They didn't mean me!" Hermione declared, tossing up her hands in sheer exasperation. "I've got to get to Master Potioneer Snape and I don't want to be late, so please, tell me."

After another silent exchange, the boys recited in tandem, as if they'd rehearsed. "We swear to never reveal that we killed a basilisk until we have our Apparating licenses. Not to Dumbledore, not to Augusta Longbottom, and certainly not to Sirius Black. Nor anyone else." And then, Harry called forth his stag and Neville called forth his bear to show that they still had their magic.

And, as delightful as their obvious, smug self-satisfaction was, Hermione latched on to one thing. "You killed a basilisk? Well, of course you did. And you destroyed a horcrux with the venom, right? Morgana and all the Fae. When did this happen?" Harry and Neville looked about to regale her with their tale when she shook her head. "No. Wait. I need to get in touch with Severus Snape."

"That greasy git?" Harry protested. "Hermione!"

"He was going to discuss purchasing venom for me, Harry. But if you slew a basilisk—wait, where was it? Can we find it? Is there still venom?"

Neville fell back on the sofa and crossed his legs. "Sirius is ahead of you there, along with my Gran." He shot a grin at Harry. "Of course, we didn't tell them they couldn't _get_ to the basilisk, now, did we?"

With a smirk, Harry shook his head. "No, we didn't. See, Hermione, I'm the only one that can get us into the Chamber of Secrets, where the basilisk is. I've, er, checked on it a couple of times and yes, the venom is there still. So," he said as he rose to his feet and extended a hand to her, "you don't need to see Snape at all. You just need to come with us. We'll Floo in."

"But I have to at least see the potioneer. I can't just ignore our appointment. That would be rude." Still she accepted Harry's assistance to stand—he was acting like his father and she wasn't going to ignore the evidence of good breeding—and followed as they left the drawing room to go upstairs to where the Floo was.

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office_**

Sirius was still fuming as he paced before the hearth in Dumbledore's office. Augusta wasn't much better. In fact, Sirius was nearly certain the stuffed vulture on her hat was making hissing sounds. Magic was funny, that way.

 _"…Not to Dumbledore, not to Augusta Longbottom, and certainly not to Sirius Black. Nor anyone else."_

 _"You killed a basilisk?"_

 _"Neville Longbottom! How dare you put yourself and our line in danger like that?"_

And, since the boys had insisted upon telling them outside the wards of Hogwarts proper, claiming that they wanted to be free from spying spirits and whatnot, they had immediately Apparated away after dropping that load of dragonshite on their parent and guardian. So _of course_ he and Augusta had hailed Albus and gained entrance to the castle. He didn't know where those boys had gone, but he could guess either Farecliffe or London or Longbottom Manor and he and Augusta were getting ready to Floo to them each in turn to give their children an earful.

Hiding something of that magnitude? Taking a bleeding Unbreakable Vow? Had they no sense? No decency? No notion of what this would mean or what could have happened? Oh, he was going to find out the answers to each of those questions when he found his boy.

But the Floo was busy and Albus had a privacy filter on. _Nice to be some wizards_. Then, he heard the words, "Coming through" and darted a look to Augusta.

What, more distraught parents or guardians? Merlin, couldn't Albus give him and Augusta priority, here?

Then Harry and Neville stumbled through the fireplace, landing and whisking the ashes from their clothing. Relief and lingering astonished fury leapt to life but before Sirius could give voice to them, Augusta shouted her grandson's name.

Only to be interrupted by a third person coming through the Floo connection. "Hello, all. Augusta, Sirius." With a nonchalant smile that made Sirius want to both sit down as well as drag her out of the office and demand to know what she was doing, Hermione pulled her wand from her hair, of all places, and caused it to settle with curly decorum about her shoulders. "So, Harry and Neville shared their news, right? And I sent my Patronus to the Potions Master. He said he'd return to the castle as I changed the nature of our appointment." Her smile landed on everyone else in the office with a light grace and persuasive dignity.

Sirius's jaw was still open, he was pretty sure. When Harry crossed the floor to him to push his chin up, it was a certainty. "Dad. Hermione's ready. We can get started right away, really."

Neville went to take his grandmother's hand. "Gran. Sorry. We had a vow and a thing and we had to tell Hermione and—"

Augusta sniffed, shook herself a bit, and stiffened her spine. "We will discuss this at home, young man. Sirius?"

"Hermione," he managed to say, though his voice sounded strained. Then, he remembered himself and moved to take her hand in both of his. "Hello, love. Sorry. Been a rather _eventful_ day so far." The glare he sent to his son was by no means met with repentance. "What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting with Severus Snape regarding the venom."

She leaned forward, tilting her jaw up to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't need to now, do I? Your son and his best mate, here, have a large supply for us." Her gaze went from playful and gracious to deadly serious. "And one of the possible items is likely in the castle, remember?"

He offered her his arm as a natural thing as Dumbledore played lord and master to lead them all out of his office. As angry as he had been at Harry and Neville for the enormity of the secret vow they'd taken, he was equally proud that they had killed a basilisk, by Merlin's beard, and hadn't said a word. If Sirius and Prongs had accomplished such a feat in school? They would have charmed the ceiling in the Great Hall to reflect the brilliance of the deed.

Down the spiral stairs, down a dimly lit corridor and behind that secret tapestry and Sirius's gaze drifted to the left hand on his right arm. The sparkling star sapphire in its platinum setting. His soulmate. His love. She was right here at his side, her step confident, her determination constant in the face of a challenge she should never have had to meet.

 _"So Riddle had issues," she had surmised after watching all of Dumbledore's pensieved memories and taking copious notes. "And a huge hate for, well,_ himself _, I think." Everyone started a bit at that but she hadn't seemed to notice. "We know he had a soul anchor in Harry. And there was the diary that the headmaster mentioned. He loved this school, perhaps, but he also despised practically everyone within its walls." Sirius had nodded and even Dumbledore had agreed to that conclusion. "So perhaps he chose things from here or to hide here? To show how great and clever he was?"_

 _Her tone had been derisive and Augusta had held up her hand. "He's a powerful wizard, even resurrected, Hermione. He is rather great and quite clever. As a younger man, he was even handsome. He played Quidditch and felt himself the equal of Rowena Ravenclaw."_

 _"Who's that?" Hermione had inquired._

 _A brief discussion of the history of the school had resulted, and Hermione decided she needed a two copies of_ Hogwarts, A History _. Both from Riddle's era and their own._

 _Harry had pulled at his hair. "What good does this do_ me _? I—_ We! _—have to kill the man, according to the prophecy. And did you see the_ Prophet _? There was a gathering of Death Eaters and a Dark Mark set in the sky only two nights ago. We have to stop him. I feel—" At that, his son's voice had actually broken and Sirius's whole focus went to him. "I feel like it's my fault, that we haven't finished this and I have to and every time I read about what's going on, it's my fault."_

 _Hermione had left the reassurances to Sirius whilst she hit her pen against the Muggle notebook she carried, muttering all the while. When Harry had calmed down, Sirius had playfully snatched the notes from her hands._

 ** _Something Noteworthy from Each House:_**

 ** _Slytherin_**

 ** _Ravenclaw_**

 ** _Gryffindor (?)_**

 ** _Hufflepuff_**

 ** _Hated Family. Flaunt and Taunt Item from the Gaunt House? Why didn't he change his name to Gaunt if he hated being a Riddle so much?_**

 ** _Harry must have been an accident. He went after Gryffindors - so that might have been the Gryff. element_.**

 ** _Seven. Number of significance. Get this confirmed? How? Can't. Magic Sniper and hope to all the Fae_.**

And though Hermione was not of their society, not really, and though she had no battle experience at all, Sirius was inclined to trust her assessment. Though he would like confirmation about that number of magical significance.

The six of them, that day in Albus's office, had brainstormed different ideas as to what these items might be, but the only one that the all Hogwarts-familiar adults could agree upon was Ravenclaw's Diadem, thought to be lost for untold ages, though there were ideas about the others.

If there were seven, Sirius reflected with a jolt as they entered a girls' bathroom that, he thought he remembered, was haunted, then they had four to go.

 _"Each anchor would be used to resurrect the soul and spirit of the wizard who made it. Each time one is made, there would be a piece taken from the soul of the wizard. So if Tom did indeed make several, his soul would have been shattered by the time he met our Harry. When he was resurrected in the graveyard, undoubtedly one of these anchors was part of what you saw in the cauldron, Sirius. So that would be one down from the proposed number of seven. What we have to focus on is getting the rest without letting him know it's happening, so that he doesn't make more."_

The mere notion made Sirius's bollocks shrivel back up into his body. Or maybe that was the sound of his son hissing at a bathroom fixture.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Next time, Part Two, in which venom is spilled. Please cast the revealing charm of **Aparecium** if you want to see where it goes! (Am I evil?) Remember, the charm only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs! See you next week..._


	28. Chapter Twenty-One: Pieces, Part Two

_**A/N:** Thank you, everyone who is reading, adding this fic to their lists, and especially to all who review! Always a pleasure!_

 _And HUGE thanks to those who nominated **Zest** for **Best Soul Bond Fic** in the **Shrieking Shack Society's Mischief Managed Awards, 2017**. There are some awesome stories in that line-up and I'm honored to be among them. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One: Putting the Pieces Together, Part Two**

 ** _5 July 1997, Chamber of Secrets_**

Hermione gripped Sirius's arm hard as they stared at the enormous rotting corpse of the basilisk. As the stench had wafted up from the bowels of the castle, she considered casting Bubblehead Charms, but without knowing what they were walking into, she thought better of it and hoped there wouldn't be anything but stench to deal with. Sirius had been kind enough to make her journey below easier than it might have been but nothing could ameliorate the sheer shock of seeing the beast Harry and Neville had killed when they'd been no more than fourteen years of age.

 _Morgana and all the Fae!_

To counter the sheer stunning power of the dead thing, she mentally recited what she wanted from this creature. She hoped to get as much venom as they could acquire, basically. She had to be able to destroy the big four of their collective supposition: Ravenclaw Diadem, The Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, Something Slytherin and a Gaunt Family Heirloom. If there had been seven, one was gone in the graveyard cauldron, its purpose served. One had been in Harry. That was six. And Dumbledore had mentioned a diary of Tom Riddle, so that made seven.

But they'd need venom for only four. Surely there was enough in the slimy corpse in front of her to provide that.

Sirius was shaking a little and Hermione turned her thoughts from self composure to helping him not strangle or stifle his son.

Who, in alternating phrases with Neville, was giving a dashing account of their time here with a still-living basilisk and the spirit of none other than Tom Riddle.

"…the trick was keeping the sword from clanging on the floor, of course…"

"He's fine," she whispered under Sirius's ear over and over. "He's fine. It's been years and he's strong and healthy and you kept him from that awful graveyard. You've kept him safe for years, love. He's fine. He's fine."

But when the tale was told, when the young men had laughed uncomfortably and pantomimed rolling on the floor and killing the basilisk, when a grandmother and a father gathered them next to themselves, Hermione withdrew and found herself standing with some awkwardness near Headmaster Dumbledore.

"I understand congratulations are in order, Miss Granger," the elderly wizard said in quiet, distant manner. They both had their gazes locked on the family members embracing a few meters away. "I am sure that you will be an asset to the House of Black."

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. You're very kind, I'm sure, to say so. Thank you for sharing the memories, as well. We have rather a hunt before us." Turning to him, she asked, "Do you know where we might find Ravenclaw's diadem or the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff? And did Salazar Slytherin," she paused, saying the unfamiliar name and checking her internal pronunciation, "have anything specific that Riddle would have known about?"

"Well, Riddle was a Founder's Heir, so that's hard to say, Miss Granger. But the diadem, perhaps, might be found by inquiring of the Ravenclaw ghost."

Surprise chilled her skin at the mere notion of interrogating the spirit of a dead person. "Oh. That's rather beyond my experience, actually."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled brightly. "I do it all the time."

Another Patronus appeared—Hermione was really quite impressed by this one as well—in the form of an elegant doe. A man's voice spoke, however, surprising her. "Headmaster. I've been advised to prepare for a quantity of basilisk venom. I will be joining you. Black? Do not draw on me."

"I wonder," the bearded wizard asked with seeming unconcern, "if Severus was speaking to Sirius or Harry?"

Due to the fact that Hermione had told the Potions Master that she would be meeting Harry at the school, she guessed _Black_ referred to Harry, but she didn't say so. There was venom to collect, after all.

"Severus, dear boy." Dumbledore met a pale man with dark, lank hair at the crumbling entrance to the Chamber. "Ah, I see you've brought your gloves. Excellent. And what will you be using to store the venom?"

"This," the potioneer said, bringing out an Erlenmeyer flask with a bit of a flourish that made Hermione want to smile. "It's impervious to venom—charmed to be so—and should hold enough to serve."

Sirius approached them. "Serve for what? Albus, does he know? Hermione, did you tell him?"

Suspicion flared briefly in his eye, which pricked Hermione's heart, but she overrode it. "I did not, Sirius. I told him I was wanting basilisk venom as a proof for an internship application potion. He was _kind_ enough to say he'd find some for me. Only for me to send him my Patronus and inform him there was some within the castle already. You _did_ say I should talk to him, remember?"

He blew out a breath and nodded before drawing nearer to her and pulling her against himself in a show that felt apologetic and possessive. She was fine with that. "Yes, I remember. Sorry. I'm just on edge."

"On edge? Love, you're on a cliff. Breathe." In her own show of affection and forgiveness, she kissed his jaw in a perfectly socially correct manner. "Now then. Have you tested that flask, Master Snape?"

He angled a look at her that was surly and offended. "Of course. But," he added, glancing away toward the forbidding corpse of the serpent, "I do have a stone vase which will suffice but which does not have the advantage of being transparent to gauge quantity."

"Excellent!"

As the potioneer, headmaster, and Harry moved to the maw of the basilisk, Sirius bent down to whisper, "Who was applying for an internship, you or him?"

"Me, of course. I think I failed."

"You? Never. And if he thinks so, we'll get another opinion."

"Oi! Snape! What the—"

"Watch out, Harry!"

Startled and frightened, Hermione lurched out of Sirius's embrace and the two of them ran the short distance to the others. "What happened? Where's—"

"Bloody buggering hell! Albus! Siphon this off me!"

Dumbledore was already performing the siphoning charm and Hermione didn't help because two in tandem only worked if both spellcasters were quite aware of the other's siphoning pattern. So she watched as the headmaster winced and twirled his wand whilst the potioneer unfolded himself from just inside the jaw of the basilisk. His hands were still encased in dragonhide, and he still held the flask—which was overfull—but his clothing was pierced by smoking holes just near his elbows.

"You're not wounded or anything, are you, Professor?" Harry's voice was as hesitant as Hermione could remember ever hearing it.

"No, the fang didn't reach me. I was cutting into the sac, if you must know. Shite! Albus! Here!"

"Oh, let me," Hermione said, producing her own dragonhide gloves left from the Tournament. She had them with her, of course, knowing venom would be a factor that day. "Here."

Sirius made some sort of sound and she looked at him over her shoulder. "Do you have protective gloves, Sirius?"

"No. Just, you know." He tried to smile.

So did she. "I know. Thank you."

She took the flask with the viscous fluid and made a face; it looked vomit-inducing.

* * *

 ** _5 July 1997, Lancaster Gardens_**

Nerves thrummed under her skin as Hermione met Sirius Black at the large glass doors that led from her family home to the garden. She smiled to see him, of course, because who wouldn't smile to see Lord Sirius Orion Black all dished up to receive congratulations from the future in-laws?

But it had been one bloody long day for everyone, so Hermione also saw the strain pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the wary tension of his shoulders as he approached her, and the slightly distracted way his lips brushed her forehead. So she smiled. Because he needed her to. "Hello, love," she murmured, bringing him inside the house and flipping the toggle that set the motors going to close the doors.

Sirius blinked, a bit surprised apparently, and watched the slow process of huge, plate-glass doors becoming a transparent barrier between indoors (with slate tile floor) and outdoors (with slate pavers). "Well, now. That's actually one of the nicer mechanisms in Muggle England," he remarked. Then, he flashed her a grin that was more like his usual. "Aside from my motorcycle, of course."

"You're still insane." She wrapped her arms about him and pressed herself into the hard muscles of his body. "But I love you insane, so I guess that's all right."

Arms relaxed, chest loosened, even his thighs seemed to find their stance more comfortable as he held her close in the temporary quiet of the garden-view lounge. "I love you, Hermione Granger. And I'm sorry that everything's been too busy to tell you nearly as often as you deserve to hear it, lately."

"No apologies. We've got time, remember? Your priorities are all in place as they should be and I have absolutely no complaints."

"Nor I, except that you're making me look bad in front of my kid." Eyes bright once again, he pulled away from her a little. "You know, coming up with the good ideas whilst interviewing ghosts and all that. You and Albus. Never would have seen that partnership happening."

"Nor I," she retorted, intentionally echoing him. "But I'm hoping that the House spirits spoke truly and weren't just endeavoring to confuse the living."

"What did you come up with?"

They were interrupted by her mother's voice, floating to them from the foyer on the other side of the house. "Hermione? Is he here? Is Lord Black here yet?" I haven't seen anyone drive up and it's—" Then, Mum arrived, chestnut hair in a classic chignon, dress a carefully casual draping of discreetly patterned rayon, heels just so, precisely one ring on her hands aside from her wedding set, and of course a string of pearls. "Oh, hello, Lord Black. So good to see you again."

Hermione cringed inwardly but remained grateful that her parents did have fairly decent manners, even if they were climbers. "Mum, hi!" With a rueful smile up at Sirius, she took him by the arm and crossed the room to her mum. "He Apparated to the garden so as not to be seen by the neighbors."

Disappointment flared briefly in her mother's blue eyes. Still, she mustered a smile. "That is such a convenient method of transportation! Better even than Hermione's wings!"

"Mum!"

"Oh, I rather appreciated her wings there, Doctor Granger," Sirius said. His aspect was all Lord Black, now, and little of her Sirius, but Hermione knew it couldn't be helped. He was having to perform a role, a function, when he'd much rather be either at home with glass of bourbon or out chasing down am Unspecified Gaunt Heirloom. Still, here they were and the small talk abounded.

After dinner had been consumed, her ring admired, and a request to announce her nuptials in the _Times_ proffered—and denied for the nonce, which her mother accepted with a brittle smile—Hermione watched her parents welcome her fiancé into the family for the second time that evening. Her father left Sirius and Mum and stopped by the sideboard to pour himself a bit of whisky. "Well, Princess, he's a nice fellow. He does know you're only seventeen, right?"

"Yes, Daddy. He knows. He's not pressuring me to get married yet or anything—nor do we _need_ to," she added with a significant look to her parent. "There are . . . problems within the government at the moment, and a Wizarding, er, well, he's something like a mob boss, you know? And I know Sirius wants to make sure that's taken care of before we even think of setting a date, so . . ." She reached up to kiss her dad on the cheek. "We won't be getting married too soon, I promise."

"And you? Did you ever get a university course lined up?"

"No, Daddy, but I have been meeting with Potioneers and am looking to take my first Mastery in that field. I'm also thinking of Runes. Like, magical protections and warnings and such, you know?" Her father nodded as if he did, but she knew he was just being polite and supportive.

"You know your home is still with us, as long as you need it to be, Princess."

"Thank you, Daddy. That is a relief. I'm going to try earn my way, but it might be a while before that works out."

"Hermione?" Sirius was at her side, his arm wrapping around her with the tenacity of Devil's Snare and she wondered what on earth her mother had been saying to him. "Care to walk me out?"

She did, grateful to be alone with him under a dark, moderately cloudy sky. At least it wasn't raining. He wrapped his arms around her and she relished the silence. The sheer, undemanding quiet that surrounded them for a few precious minutes.

"Been a long day," he whispered into her hair after a while.

A flash caught her eye and, when she tried to find it, she saw her camera-wielding dad waving from their bedroom window on the first floor. "It really has. Sorry. Guess my dad is immortalizing the moment or something. Sorry about my parents, Sirius. Hope they don't scare you off."

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Never. I just wish I didn't have to leave you here." He sighed deeply, his breath moving her hair as his fingers massaged her back through her dress. "Don't suppose I could persuade you to join me tonight?"

"Only if you really mean it," she said after a quiet thought.

He drew back, eyes no longer tired or jaded, just wide with surprise. "Really? Your dad won't be all . . ."

"No. You've done all the proper things, haven't you? And I have a big shiny ring on my finger and they know I won't be . . . irresponsible."

"Ah, yes. Right. Of course." He slid his hands up to cup her face. "Might not be a bad idea to have a, well, something of duration used, yeah? At least for a while."

"I have looked into that," she confessed. Long-term contraceptive charms were definitely a must.

"What, in between researching basilisk venom, reading history books, and interviewing ghosts?"

Grateful that he appeared to be relaxing again, she nodded. "We can compare notes, if you like. Want to pop up to my rooms and help me pack a few things?"

He stared at her a moment, but she didn't know why. Then, he smilingly shook his head. "The advantages of being engaged to a younger witch. Prongs would have moved all of Britain for such a girl."

"You don't have to, you have me."

"I do have you. Right where I want you." He winked and added, "Well, almost."

Before too long, he did. And Hermione was more than happy to be "had".

* * *

 ** _11 July 1997, Gaunt House_**

Sirius, dressed to prowl at this insanely early hour, hunkered down behind the trees with Hermione and Luna whilst Harry and Severus Snape, of all people, moved in near invisibility toward the dilapidated shack in the clearing ahead. There was something not quite right, this morning, but he couldn't place his finger on it. It was as if there was something unhealthy in the air. Something that indicated a disturbance.

"What is it, Sirius?" Hermione whispered near his left ear. He hadn't wanted to bring her, but she wouldn't be left behind when they were hunting a horcrux. "I feel your unease."

 _Soulmates. Can't keep secrets from them_ , Sirius reflected with a small smile. "You're good, love. I don't know what it is. Just . . . watch with both eyes, yeah?"

"Right."

Luna had kept silent during their exchange, her entire focus apparently on _her_ soulmate. Sirius took some solace from her serenity; surely if something were wrong, the girl would be agitated.

Harry and Severus conferred quietly before Harry knelt in the tall grass. Then, there was a hissing sort of sound and Harry reached into the grass. Luna took a quick, loud breath and Sirius stiffened, poised to run to his son. He had a Portkey to St. Mungo's just in case.

Then, Luna relaxed significantly and Sirius smiled to find himself doing likewise.

Harry and Severus went up to the door and both of them had their wands out. Severus did something before nodding and touching the door with one hand.

"I don't think it was warded," Hermione murmured.

"Then maybe nothing's in there?" Sirius pushed himself to his feet, wincing when he felt his knees lightly protesting. "C'mon, let's go in for back-up."

"Albus!"

"Professor! Shite, no! Stop! Even I can—"

"Go!" Luna shouted. "Sirius, go!"

Panic rushing through his limbs, Sirius ran through the grasses, jumping over the snakes and hitting the half-open door with his shoulder. "Harry!"

The room was shadowed, dusty, but he only saw that his son was unharmed, at first, being pushed back from Dumbledore. Sirius hurried to get right next to his son, but his attention was almost all for Dumbledore once he'd done so. "Albus!"

The elderly wizard was bowed low over a box that was on the floor next to a hole where a floorboard had been dislodged. "Ah, it's one of the Three," Albus said in an awestruck tone. "The Stone. Arianna . . ." He lifted the box and eyed its contents covetously, his beard even showing tremors in the faint light of the misty morning that came in slices through boarded windows. Sirius gasped when Albus plucked a ring from the box and held it in hands that visibly shook.

"Headmaster, no!" Harry shouted. "No! Don't!"

Dumbledore didn't seem to heed them and Sirius didn't know what to do, but Harry's safety remained paramount.

"Sirius?"

Hermione, slipping on her dragonhide gloves, had only come a few steps into the shack, but Sirius held up a hand, palm out, to indicate she shouldn't come any further into the stuffy, dust-covered room.

"What is it?"

Severus cleared his throat. "One of the Hallows, Miss Granger."

"A horcrux, Hermione," Harry added, voice flat. "Headmaster, don't. Just leave it. We've got a box for it and we'll take care of it, remember? That's the plan."

"Someone take it from him!" Hermione demanded.

Sirius blew out a harsh breath. "You don't just _do_ that with a horcrux."

Hermione made an impatient sound and then, as she'd done in Dumbledore's office, she Summoned something from Dumbledore so that it flew across the room to her. She caught it in her gloved hand.

Sirius gaped. Severus sputtered. Harry swore. Luna, coming up behind Hermione, sighed. "You were precipitous, Hermione."

"Where's the box we prepared?" Hermione said, ignoring the blonde.

Dumbledore didn't say a word as the ring was hidden from view again. He merely wept copiously into his own beard, the name, "Arianna," coming out in a fluid expression of unimagined sorrow.

Sirius didn't find out what that meant; he was too busy wrapping his witch in his arms, shaking, reassuring himself that she hadn't taken any hurt from the horcrux. "You say I'm insane," he said at length, leading her from the Gaunt shack. "And you just take horcruxes from powerful wizards like they were candy."

"Wordless, wandless Summoning is mastered by fifth year at Beauxbatons," she replied.

In the fresh sunlight, he bent his head to kiss her, his amazing, wonderful fiancée. "Thank you."

* * *

 ** _Evening, Farecliffe Manor_**

"Sirius . . ."

"Love, it's a fantasy of mine," he told her, speaking from the edge of the bathtub. Steam layered the ceiling and he could only barely see her olive-skinned shape through the glass doors of his shower. He slid off his slippers and undid the tie on his dressing gown.

A mass of dark hair moved and he guessed she was looking at him over her shoulder. "A fantasy?"

"Washing your hair."

He had hoped to make her smile or laugh or maybe even say, "Oh,Sirius," in the way she had sometimes. Instead, she opened the door and poked her head out, water dripping to his floor.

"I've never had someone wash my hair. Not since I was a baby. It'd be . . . weird."

"You only say that because _I've_ never washed your hair," he insisted, figuring the open door was an invitation. He let his robe fall from his body and joined her in the smallish square shower with its gray and taupe tiles. She shivered. "I know. You're a lot warmer than I am. Give me a minute to catch up."

"Mmm. A minute? It'll take you that long to get . . . hot?" Her eyes were narrowed as she seemed to skim his skin with them. Goosebumps erupted all over his body and that wasn't all that came to life. "No, I don't think so." She trailed her hands down his chest until she reached his erection and he sucked in a long breath.

"Wait. I meant it. I want to wash your hair," he managed to say, palming her hips and torso. "Please."

She reached back with one arm, both finding her shampoo and pressing the tips of her breasts against his ribs with a graceful flow of bone and muscle. "Fine. But I get to return the favor."

And as he luxuriated in the feel of heavy curls twining around his hands like live things, as he caressed her soapy, wet skin, as he knelt to taste her pleasure and enjoyed her mouth bringing him the same . . . Sirius thrilled to the connection he felt with her, hoping she felt the same completion thrum through her soul.

"Sirius . . ." she said on a sigh as he slid home into the welcome haven of her body. She'd saved Dumbledore that day, maybe saved them all from a disaster of unknown proportions. But her smile, that smile, was for him and was a part of her that no one else could ever know. The way that smile, that one she gave him when he drove her to climb, made her moan, coaxed her cries into orgasm . . .

She brought him to life. And he followed her into _le petite mort_ —the little death of sexual climax.

Together. They would live to die a little death again.

* * *

 ** _12 July 1997_**

Hermione rolled over to see Connie's big blue eyes staring at her. "Missy Otter!"

Sirius mumbled something from his side of the bed before she felt his hand grip her naked hip. Hermione smiled. "Connie. Good morning. What is it?"

"Missy Otter is going to be Lady Black. And Lord Black and Master Harry thinks she is very smart and they are going to fight the Big Dark One."

This was not what Hermione was expecting when she saw the house-elf. Shaken, she scooted up in the bed, dragging the smooth burgundy sheet up with her to preserve her modesty in front of Connie. "Er, yes? Is something wrong?"

Connie pulled at one ear and then shook off whatever it was. Then words tumbled from her mouth as if they'd been lodged behind boulders and were suddenly freed. "We's all be wanting to help Lord Black and Master Harry and Miss Otter-to-be-Lady Black. Krinkle be reminding us that we is proud to serve the House of Black, reminding us that we have to have everything ready for Miss Otter-to-be-Lady Black. All is being ready. And Master Harry is not ready. Lord Black be saying that Big Dark One has to be gone and Master Harry safe before we can has our Lady Black."

Sirius interrupted, moving and rolling under the sheets until he was draped across Hermione's lap. "Connie. Tell me what you and Krinkle did. I will not be angry and Miss Granger will not be upset. Just say it and say it fast instead of writing a book about it."

Connie sniffed. "Lord Black be needing his morning tea and scone!" She snapped her fingers and there was a small round tray hovering in mid-air. "Here. Drink this and stop being mean."

Hermione glanced down at the sleep-disheveled man. "She's right, you know. Tea is good."

"Fine."

After a few minutes of Connie's fussing, they were settled and Hermione Summoned a shirt from the back of one of the chairs in Sirius's bedroom. "Now. What is it, Connie? I know you always do your very best for the House of Black."

"Oh, we's always doing that! We's knowing that Lord Black was looking for bits of the Big Dark One. We's found the ones Lord Black hides to wait and Krinkle and Connie went to see and—"

"What the bleeding hell?" Sirius spilled his tea all over the bedsheets and Hermione hissed at the burning of it. He apologized with a glance but jumped out of bed in the skin he was born in—with the addition of the tattoo on his bum—and took Connie by the shoulders whilst Hermione tried to get him to calm down. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"Had to feel the magics, Lord Black. Then, me's and Krinkle be's surprising Lord Black, Missy Otter and Master Harry! We be looking in all the places, and even found Kreacher, who showed us where a shiny necklace with matching magic was so we's brought it here. And then, Krinkle be saying it was important to go to the Goblins because they's be keeping all the treasure things and maybe hiding things that could get Lord Black to take cares of the Big Dark One. But, goblins only be letting us in the _Black_ holes, though, so we's went there."

Hermione's heart started pounding hard, burnt skin, wet sheet, and her own crumbled scone forgotten. "Connie? What did you find? Are you all right?"

"We's be finding _more_ matching magic! We's have a golden cup and we's putting it in with the rest. Now, Lord Black can make Master Harry safe and be making Missy Otter our Lady Black!"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I just, er, have a soft spot for house-elves..._

 _Thanks extended to the wonderful person or people who nominated **Casting the Stake** for the **Best Moresome Fic!** :) I have the best readers! The awards page can be found at _ shrieking shack society dot weebly dot com _Look for Mischief Managed under Awards. I would encourage you to read and vote for your favorites in all categories. And if you find a new fic, remember to give the author some love!_

 _All right! I'll see you Thursday! If you want a peek into the next chapter, cast the revealing spell: **Aparecium**! Remember, it only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs!_


	29. Chapter Twenty-Two: Determination

_**A/N:** So glad you enjoyed the house-elves' contribution in the last chapter! They're not done, yet!_

 _My thanks to everyone who is reading, adding this story to their lists, and especially all who review. A deep bow today to **Kyra71414** , who caught review #1400. Wow! _

_And thanks, as always, to **Katmom** for being kind enough to be interested in the messiest edition of this story._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: Determination**

 ** _12 July 1997, Kensington, London_**

"I'd say they all deserve a holiday, but I know they'd find that insulting," Sirius whispered, utterly flummoxed to see the collection of horcruxes that had been completed by none other than his house-elves. There was a pendant or something that had been in the Great Crypt of Doom, otherwise known as his mother's house on Grimmauld Place. The Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, liberated from one of the Black vaults—Connie didn't know which one, but Sirius had his suspicions—stood on its own in a corner of the heavily warded container they were storing these . . . things . . . in until such time as they were ready to destroy them and make Voldemort mortal. Ravenclaw's sparkling diadem had drawn Harry's attention, and Sirius's own, when they'd found it, which was why his son was not in the vault in the London house at present. He wasn't even in the house at all; he and Neville and were at Longbottom Manor, likely still under heavy chastisement from Augusta.

Which they deserved, by Merlin's bloody broom! Killing a basilisk. Without telling anyone!

And then there was the ring Albus had found. It was both a Hallow and a horcrux but Sirius was not going to attempt to separate them, no matter how sacred a Hallow might be. It rested in a shadowy spot—shadowy not due to the light but due to the dark magic it emanated.

Hermione squeezed his hand. "I think you're right," she said. "So what do we do now?"

Something drew him to the box, but he pushed himself away. "We get out of this vault and out of this house and forbid Harry and Neville from returning here as well until these are destroyed. Can you feel it?" he asked her on a rasping whisper, somehow loath to shut the door of the vault behind him and close the horcruxes away. They were interesting . . .

His fiancée tugged sharply at his hand, jarring him. "I mostly feel what you do and we need to go. Come on, love. We need to plan for what's next, right? And you had said before that you had a Board of Directors meeting for Hogwarts this afternoon and you wanted to check the Reserve before the full moon next week. Isn't Remus going to stay there to see if the wards are placed properly?"

Resolutely, Sirius shut the door and leant against the wall next to it. "Thank you, love." Her questions had distracted him, bringing him away from the dark lure of the horcruxes to the business of the every-day. He tilted her chin up and kissed her briefly, an open-eyed salute that he hoped conveyed his appreciation for her understanding. "Right. There are things to do. What did you have planned before Connie woke us up?"

She held his hand as they roamed the rooms, for Sirius wanted to do a quick check on his property before essentially abandoning it until they were ready to deal with the horcruxes permanently. Hermione had all sorts of plans of her own, though, which kept him from thinking about the vault.

"Well I truly was going to send letters to another Potioneer today as well as Lady Ehrmengard, the Runes and Warding Mistress who wrote _There are Runes for That_. Her tone is amusing and I think she'd be an excellent person to study under for my Mastery. And then, Mum wanted me home for dinner this evening—more of her Keeping Hermione _Terrestre_ campaign—so I'll be there. But," she went on to say as they climbed the stairs to the first floor, "I'll have my Grim with me so we can chat if you'd like."

"Chat, eh?" he said, turning her about at the top of the stairs and pressing her against the wall. "I suppose that will have to do." Her eyes closed and lips parted but Sirius refrained from accepting her invitation. Instead, he touched her cheek and grinned. "So I suppose I should behave myself now!"

"Sirius!"

" _Seriously_ , though," he said, turning his thoughts as they checked the wards on the windows. "I know it's early and you're still, well, seventeen."

"Do _not_ start—"

"Hear me out, please, love?" Her eyes were narrowed as he glanced down at her and he paused, taking both her hands as they stood at the foot of yet another staircase. The floor above was his suite of rooms and he really didn't wish to be distracted.

She sighed and cocked her head. "Fine. What?"

"I just . . . really hate being away from you at night, is all. I love it when you can stay with me."

Her irritated demeanor fell away and she bit her lip, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that when Mum asked—"

"No, love. I just meant . . ." He sighed and pulled her against his chest. "I miss you, is all. Just . . . feeling you with me. Knowing you're there even if you're in the library. Or, better yet, if _we're_ in the library." She laughed against him and he smiled.

"You said you didn't want to, _couldn't_ , get married until Harry was safe," she reminded him.

He took a breath, not knowing what she'd say, but feeling a strange edge to her emotions as he let himself feel them, pushing his magic out and trying to wrap her up in it. "He's been my life, Hermione. Since I was twenty-one." When she leaned away from him, he kept her within his arms. "I never really thought about what would happen when he grew up, you know. What I'd do. Where I'd be. I never dreamt there'd be a Hermione Granger in my future. My present, now. I guess I just want you here. Right here. I know that you likely don't actually want to turn in to Lady Black right away, with all the duties and so on." He smiled, thinking about the amount of work it would be, even with help. "I know you've got a lot you want to do and you'll be brilliant. Potions Mistress. Warding Mistress. I can see you writing books and teaching or whatever suits you, because you, my love, can do anything." She blushed but he still saw a wary question in her eyes and he tried to address it. "I wondered, though, if you might consider staying with me even before you're officially Lady Black?"

He winced even as the words left his mouth. It was hugely presumptuous even if they were engaged because society had rules and he knew them, but he honestly didn't want to feel like he was whisking her off from under her father's nose whenever they wanted to spend the night together.

Hermione didn't answer immediately and his initial inclination was to retract what he'd said, apologize, and move on in an awkward after-space that would take him most of a week to get over, likely. He _did_ have that meeting and—

"I don't want to be a kept woman, Sirius," she stated, her voice low but clear. When he got over feeling stupid, he met her gaze. How did she reduce him to feeling like he was eighteen? "I want to, well, have my feet under me before I would live with you." He opened his mouth to say something but she smiled a little before placing one finger on his lips. "My turn, yeah? Right. See, being married—I hadn't planned on it happening too soon, of course. I have no problem with the difference in our ages, I really don't, but I'd like to have a name of my own before I take yours. Does that, does that make sense? Now, a wife isn't a 'kept woman' of course, because I'll be your lady. The Lady Black, and there is, as you say, a lot to do with that and I'm looking forward to it." She studied his face and he wondered what she saw there. Then she kissed him, lingering on his lips and sighing as they parted. " _Believe_ me." He actually blushed at the playful innuendo that heated her gaze, in the hints of teasing he saw in her quirked lips. "You want to get Harry safe. I want to have a standing of my own. At least the beginnings of one. And then, then we can do this however and whenever you would want. Because, honestly, we'll be living in your world and it should be proper for that."

He nodded. "You've thought about this."

"A lot, yeah." They shared a small laugh. "All right?"

"Absolutely. I just hate feeling like you're sneaking out of your parents' house. Makes me feel like a lecher or something."

She frowned. "Well. If that's all, I'll arrange for my own flat, yes? I have some money laid by." She offered him an up-tilted look. "And then perhaps you could stay with me, some nights. I'll even learn how to cook."

He grinned and scooped her up in his arms. "Well! I like that. I think we should celebrate."

"Sirius!" Her laughing protest echoed off the walls of the stairwell and he grinned as he carried her up to his rooms. To his bed. _Their_ bed, someday.

He was going take the Floo to get to the Board Meeting, right? He had time to celebrate.

* * *

 ** _20 July 1997, Longbottom Manor_**

"You're sure your dad won't be wondering where you are?" Neville asked from where he was moving a maturing flower to a new pot. It had to be moved during the day of the full moon, and Harry had learned years ago not to question Neville and his green thumb.

"Well, he knows I'm here," Harry replied, tossing a hand trowel back and forth. The trick was not to catch it by the blade. Being a Seeker was not a bad skill to have, really.

"You promised him and I promised Gran that we weren't going to see the . . . things." Neville patted the soil with gritty fingers, but he was studying his godbrother.

"And we're not. But Dad said all of them have been gathered, which means _he_ can't get to them and use one. Nev." He tossed the garden tool to a worktable in the Longbottom greenhouse and crossed over a tray of . . . something . . . to stand near Neville's work area. "I don't want to give him any more time to make more, is the thing."

Neville brushed off his hands, eyes alight. "So, you've got a plan? I'm with you. What is it?"

"House-elves," Harry whispered. "They were able to find the final . . . things. They could maybe find _him_ , you know? And take us there. Hermione said to do it like snipers, right? They go in, shoot, and get out. No big fight. No huge battle with a lot of dead people. No one else would have to die." This was important. The _Daily Prophet_ reported Death Eater attacks. Muggleborn families were targeted, as were the families of half-blood stock and pure-bloods who were "traitors" to Voldemort's philosophy.

Neville understood. "Well. Your dad's not around to stop us right now. So."

"Thing is, _he's_ also been recruiting werewolves, Remus said a couple of days ago."

"And," Neville countered, pointing upward, "the moon'll be full tonight. The werewolves won't be near Voldemort. I mean, he doesn't have a death wish, right?" The young men snorted in unison. No, Tom Riddle had worked very hard to avoid death.

They held each others' gazes, and Harry wondered if he should ask his Moon if _she_ thought this was a good idea. Maybe if he got her to promise not to tell his dad or Nev's grandmother. "I'll check with Luna," he told Neville.

The other boy smiled crookedly. "That girl. That's a good idea, actually. And she'll keep your secrets. She's always kept your secrets, Harry."

Nodding, Harry focused and did the charm the way he'd been taught, so that he could speak and send messages. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

Whilst he and Luna communicated via Patronus—he considered asking his dad for a pair of paired obsidian . . . stone . . . _things_ like he and Hermione used—Neville finished his planting and got the Longbottom house-elves to prepare lunch. He also, Harry suspected from the occasional searching glance an elf would give him, surmised that Neville was sussing out their opinion on the proposed plan.

Luna's hare bounced around playfully as his Moon delivered her final thoughts on the matter: _Your dad will be destroyed if you are hurt. I can't tell you not to go, but I ask you to wear your armor and go shielded. Your Moon won't survive without her Night._

It wasn't a full-on encouragement, but Harry accepted it for what it was: permission.

"Krinkle!"

Dadfoot's valet-elf appeared in an instant, ears at attention as always. "Yes, Master Harry?"

"I wanted to thank you personally for finding the pieces of Voldemort. It was very brave of you all to do."

The house-elf bowed stiffly. "It is our pleasure to serve the Lord and the Scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

"How did you do it?" Neville reappeared in the sitting room where Harry had stationed himself during his conversation of sorts with his Luna.

Krinkle eyed Neville narrowly for a moment. "I will answer Scion Longbottom. We felt the magics in the soul pieces already found and went to find matching magic. We looked first in places that we remembered were dark, before, and we went to the Goblins and they helped. And so did Kreacher, the ungrateful one." Krinkle's expression betrayed disgust and annoyance. "He mourns for Young Master Regulus Who Was. He has no pride in his House."

"But Dad said Kreacher found one of the pieces," Harry protested mildly. After all, Kreacher should be given his due no matter how grumpy he was.

Krinkle sniffed and his ears straightened even further, which should have been impossible. "He did. Yes. So we put them in the vault in the London house, Master Harry."

Harry shot a look to Neville and took a deep breath. "Krinkle. Could you find the wizard who made the pieces? Could you find Voldemort?"

The house-elf stared at Harry. Stared hard. "You think we were bonded _yesterday_ , Master Harry?"

For no discernible reason, Harry blushed. "Er, no, Krinkle. Of course not. You are a wise and helpful house-elf, whom my father trusts with running his estate."

Krinkle nodded with an abrupt, almost offended air. "Lord Black is right to trust me. And he trusts me not to do anything foolish with his son and heir. I am not looking for the Big Dark One."

Harry tamped down his frustration. "I didn't ask you to find him, Krinkle. I asked if you could, not if you would."

Had their ever been such a suspicious house-elf in Britain? "I will answer you. Yes I could, but I will not." He nodded as if that were the end of it. Then, he held up one long, skinny finger. "And neither will Connie!" With that, Krinkle popped away in a most decided manner.

Neville sighed and collapsed heavily onto a white leather chair. "Well, so much for that idea, Harry."

Harry, who had been standing whilst talking with Krinkle, paced to the hearth and back. "No, wait. Krinkle might be the Chief House-Elf, or however they might call themselves privately, but he's not the only one."

Neville leaned forward. "You're going to try Kreacher, aren't you." It wasn't even a question. "Harry, he hates us. Well, your dad, anyway."

"He might, but he's also bound to serve the House of Black."

Neville whistled softly. "Blimey, Harry, you're right scary when you've got a notion to be."

* * *

 ** _Moonrise, Werewolf Reserve, Rhiwargor, Wales_**

Sirius and Charlie rested on a boulder just outside the wards of the Reserve. Tonight was a test. There was only Remus within the wards. Well, Remus and Tonks. After this moon, there'd be one more before the planned September Welcoming.

Charlie, wearing an unbuttoned shirt and pair of trousers, scratched at his stomach. "It's hard to not be with 'em, you know?"

"I do," Sirius replied. "Let's see if they can smell us, first though. Give us an hour or more and then we can go play." He barked a quick laugh. "I miss it. I mean, I'm very happy for you all, you know that, right?" Charlie nodded with a grin all over his freckled face. "But there's nothing quite like running with Remus during a moon. Spent, Merlin, most moons since we were fifteen or sixteen doing that. More than twenty years. Still feels odd not to be with him."

"I bet. Well, you know you're always welcome, Sirius." Charlie wiggled his brows playfully. "Though it can get wild."

Sirius shook his head, smiling and remembering. "It can, I know. Been there, done that, what? But no. I've got the future Lady Black to consider just now, and she doesn't share."

Charlie's laugh brought forth two figures from a shadowed outcropping of grassy rock. "Oi, it's them," the dragonologist said with quiet appreciation.

"And Moony isn't at all agitated."

"Tonks is all right, too."

"Still pink? My cousin is such a rebel."

"Nah," Charlie said, standing and stretching and apparently attracting his mates so that they loped over. "Pinky's just flexible."

Moony approached the wards but not too closely, and Sirius could see Moony testing the air and scenting about. Then, the werewolf gave a soft, contented bark and Sirius nodded. "All right then, Charlie. I guess you can go. I'll keep an eye on the wards for a bit and then I'll join you. I'd say have fun but that'd be . . ."

Charlie snorted as he peeled out of his clothes without any hint of modesty. "Weird. Thing is, my head loves 'em. Loves 'em both. And Merlin knows when we're all in our skins? Hot, Sirius. Blimey. But the dragon? Meh. He's not so keen. He's content to watch and wrestle a bit, but sex is not on his mind."

As if to prove it, the man morphed into his Animagus form and leapt into the sky, bypassing the wards to enter the Reserve from the air. Werewolves, after all, couldn't fly, and the ward boundaries extended up about ten stories above the ground.

If necessary, they'd put a ceiling on it, though.

* * *

 ** _Longbottom Manor_**

"I don't know. I wonder if Hermione's armor can be transfigured to fit you?" Harry mused, pulling up his boots after donning his own armor at Neville's place.

"It's dragonhide, Harry. Magic-resistant."

"Well, bring something solid with you then. Like an actual shield, you know? So an Unforgivable can't get through."

Neville nodded thoughtfully. "I could do that." He left his suite of rooms, where they were getting ready for their hopeful expedition to get Voldemort, and Harry watched the empty door for a moment before he tied back his hair and got his wand in his hand.

Then, he thought of his Moon and called, " _Expecto Patronum_!" The stag came—Dadfoot called it _Prongs_ —and he sent it to Luna. No words were needed; she'd know he was telling her he was on his way.

Neville returned with a shield that looked to be from some ancient medieval soldier. "Ready." He wore Auror-grade, spell-resistant robes and sturdy boots. Wand in one hand, shield in the other.

"Right. Kreacher!"

The ancient elf popped into the room, eyes squinting, ears flat back along his skull. "Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black. Kreacher lives to avenge his master, his true master. Regulus."

Harry would have offered the house-elf some form of encouragement but their earlier interview hadn't lent itself to such.

 _"Kreacher!"_

 _The house-elf had popped into the room with a sullen sort of sound. "Master Harry. What you be wanting of Kreacher?"_

 _"I heard that you have been with our House for a long time. Did you serve Lord Black when he was young?"_

 _"No. Served Young Master Regulus. Best master to Kreacher. Even when—" The old elf shook himself and settled his bent spine into a stiff representation of negligent respect. "Kreacher served Master Regulus and Lady Walburga Black."_

 _Harry winced, remembering the old portrait of Walburga Black. "You brought us a pendant . . ."_

 _At this, Kreacher's aspect changed. "Yes Kreacher did. Has it been destroyed? Kreacher failed Master Regulus, could not destroy the locket he gave. The Big Dark One made_ _Kreacher_ _drink, made_ _Kreacher_ _drink and_ _Kreacher_ _did for Master Regulus, but it was not right and the master said to destroy the locket but_ _Kreacher_ _failed!" Grief vibrated through each syllable, was palpable in the air around the house-elf, and Harry winced to know the locket was not yet destroyed._

 _"It is not yet but it will be just before we go to, to end the one who made you drink."_

 _"He betrayed us . . . You will kill him?"_

 _"That is the plan, Kreacher, but only if you can take us to him. Can you?"_

 _The house-elf eyed him balefully. "_ _Kreacher_ _can. Kreacher knows his magic. Kreacher can find it again. But you must promise Kreacher you will destroy the locket as Master Regulus wished. It must be done!"_

 _"It shall be. I swear it."_

Kreacher had stared at him before leaving to Merlin knew where, returning only an hour or so ago. Just after he and Neville had made themselves eat something so they wouldn't go to meet their doom on an empty stomach.

"Is the master ready to go? Kreacher has found the Big Dark Betrayer."

"We're ready. Wands out, Nev." Nervous, he shared a grin with his godbrother. "Remember, we've been training for this all our lives."

"All our lives to go in and fire off one Piercing charm. Of course, Harry." Harry could see that, for all of Neville's casual tone, his wand hand trembled. "Gran's going to kill me."

Harry tried to be cavalier as well, though his thoughts flew to his dad and Luna. "Not if we come back as Voldemort's Vanquishers she won't. My dad, either. Maybe we'll be very lucky and be back before dawn and no one will be the wiser."

"Masters ready or are they going to talk like foolish boys all night?" Kreacher held out a hand to each of them and Harry grabbed on tight, choosing to use his wand hand so that Neville could keep his wand hand free when he held on to Kreacher as well.

"Ready, Nev?"

"Ready."

Heart pounding more fiercely than it had even for the dragon in the Triwizard, even faster than it had when he'd told Luna he loved her, Harry swallowed hard. "Kreacher, take us to Voldemort."

* * *

 ** _Lancaster Gardens_**

"Hermione, dear? You've a friend just arrived!"

"Coming, Mum!" Hermione set aside the quill and parchment—why must the Wizarding world insist upon such archaic writing instruments?—she was using to write to her Earth Magics professor at Beauxbatons, and wiped ink from her fingers. "Wonder who's down there?" she muttered as she smoothed her hands over her jeans and fluffed out the soft gray t-shirt Sirius had from the original Monsters of Rock festival in 1980. He'd said he bought two because it was such a big deal, and this was the one he wore. The other, he kept in stasis as a collectors' item. She inhaled the fabric and could smell him, which made her smile.

He was not her guest; he was in Wales with Remus, Tonks, and Charlie. Maybe it was someone from school?

Well, she'd never know without going down to see, so . . . Down the stairs she went, her bare feet sure in their steps on the smooth oak beneath them. " . . . Oh, so you're friends with her fiancé's son?"

"Luna!" Hermione called out before even seeing who it was. Her mum had taken Luna to the ground floor drawing room and Hermione hurried to enter it, hand outstretched to take the other girl's. "What a surprise! Mum, this is Luna Lovegood, who is Harry's girlfriend. Harry, as you said, is Sirius's son. Luna, this is my mum, Doctor Emma Granger."

"Would you girls like some tea or chocolate?" Mum asked politely, backing away from them a bit.

Hermione only then took the time to examine Luna's face for clues as to why she was here. The blonde was dressed almost conventionally, as if she found an outfit in a book somewhere and copied it. A book about ten years old, but still. Red, black, and white with a slight petticoat and wide shoulders under a leather tuxedo-ish jacket that seemed out of place for the time of year. Still, it was better than radish earrings and fabric with animated patterns. "You look great," Hermione ventured to say, though in truth, Luna appeared quite strained and not at all like herself.

"Ah, thank you. Er, can I speak to you privately?"

"Mum? No chocolate and biscuits just now. I'll fix it if we decide we want some. I'll take Luna up to my room."

"Of course, dear."

Once her mother had gone, Hermione extended an arm. "Apparate?"

Luna's face—more pale now than was its wont—relaxed a bit. "Of course." And so they did and were up in Hermione's suite of rooms in a breath. "Thank you. Oh, Hermione. Do you know where Sirius is?"

She took Luna's chilled hands and led her to the dressing room bench to sit down. "He's with Remus in Wales. What's wrong? Is it Harry?"

Pale blue eyes blinked rapidly before tears welled to fall. "He's gone with Nev to face him. They're going tonight. Now. He's having an elf take them, I think. I can't see. I can't see what will happen! It's so dark, Hermione. So very dark!"

Hermione couldn't breathe. He'd gone that night? "Breathe, Luna. Breathe," she counseled, taking her own advice. She inhaled deeply and waited for Luna to copy her until the girl's hands were less chilled. "All right. I don't know if I can send a Patronus to Sirius as he's within wards. But there is something we should do."

"What? I think I need to be where Harry is, if I can't be with Sirius. Harry was at Neville's. I can wait there. The house-elves know me and—"

"Can you feel your soulmate, Luna?" It was not Hermione's usual way of comforting someone in distress, but it seemed to work as Luna blinked and her tense muscles relaxed. "Good. All right. Can you feel his magic?"

"We've been practicing. His magic is—strong. He's strong. But—happy _and_ afraid."

"Do you know where he is? Can we get to him?"

"No," she answered on a whisper. "But he's thinking hard."

"That's good, then," Hermione murmured in relief. "If he's thinking, he's doing well, right? Sirius would be pleased to know that. All right. I will send my Patronus to Sirius just in case he can see it from behind the wards. And I'll ask Connie, if she'll come, to take you to Longbottom Manor. I will even ask her to stay. Then, if Harry needs . . . comfort, you'll be there for him, all right?"

"Not the greenhouse," Luna said, her voice more like its usual airy thoughtfulness. "The country house. Farecliffe. I see him where he belongs, my Night. He'll be under his Moon again on the cliff."

"All right. Connie!" She had never called for a house-elf away from one of Sirius's homes before, but hoped that it would work.

It did. The happy elf popped in with a tiny sound. "Missy Otter be calling Connie? Oh, it's Missy Moon that isn't Moony!"

Luna actually smiled at that and Hermione knelt to speak to the house-elf. "Connie, thank you for coming. I was wondering if you could take Miss Luna to Farecliffe?"

"Master Harry isn't there he's—" In an instant, the plucky elf's entire body seemed to crumple. "He's not being anywheres!"

Luna flew from the bench to kneel in front of the distraught house-elf. "No, no Connie! He's going to be at Farecliffe. He and Neville are together being heroes right now and if you take me to Farecliffe, we can help him when he's done, all right?"

"And you can ask Krinkle to go to Sirius—he might have better luck than a Patronus anyway—whilst I go take care of the . . . things at the Sirius's house here in London."

Connie's eyes went heavy for a moment before she perked up a bit. "Missy Otter is very smart. Very smart indeed. She be makings us a fine Lady Black very soon! Come, Missy Moon!"

* * *

 ** _Somewhere Very Dark_**

Harry landed and tore his hand from Kreacher's so as to take his wand in its proper grip. There he was. The white, skull-like head, the boney limbs, languishing with somehow apparent energy in an ostentatious chair made of a shining dark wood. In front of him were three people, not dressed in Death Eater apparel but in regular robes, drinking wine or something. There were a couple more at the perimeter of the room.

It was exceedingly dark and Harry had the impression that they were underground.

"So I think," Voldemort was saying, his voice higher than one would think a Dark Lord of anything would have, "that we need to liberate our brethren from Azkaban. I miss my Bella." Polite laughter ringed the room and Kreacher shifted next to Harry.

The small motion made him nervous. Bella. Sirius's cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, of course. A Black. Kreacher was bound to serve . . .

Kreacher had taken them to the back of this probably subterranean chamber, in a shadowed space where cloaks were hanging on pegs and a table was set up with very basic beverages. Even Death Eaters, he supposed, got hungry and thirsty and Gamp's Law prevented anyone from just creating food from nothing.

Neville was in arm's reach so Harry slowly, slowly moved his hand until he brushed his godbrother's sleeve. It was time. Hermione's words slid through his mind.

 _"Being a sniper is like being an intelligent, highly effective weapon," she had said to him one day in the Farecliffe library. "Not a gunfight in the O.K. Corral or wild mass engagement as in the Battle of Culloden. Just go in, you and Neville. Make sure you can see him and fire your spells clearly, and then get out, all right? A Piercing charm through his eye, his brain, his heart. A_ Reducto _through his neck. Both of you at the same time, make it count, then get away. Apparate out and disappear."_

 _"But what if it doesn't kill him?"_

 _She had shrugged. "We can't be perfect every time, can we? But you've faced a dragon, Harry. You can do this. Your dad will be terrified, so . . ."_

 _"Don't tell him in advance. Yeah. I've been playing with that for a while." Hermione had angled a brow but hadn't said anything. Harry had suspected she was an artist about hiding things she didn't want people to know. She was, after all, Muggleborn. "Go in, fire, and get out. Got it."_

 _"Good."_

With one hand, he cast a shield over himself and Neville. With the other, he lifted his wand, aimed it very carefully at Voldemort's head, and cast wordlessly. _Reducto!_ Neville aimed as well, and whispered a very direct Piercing charm at the pale Dark Lord.

They missed.

* * *

 _A/N: Yes. That was indeed a cliff. And not a "Fare" one in Derbyshire, either. Do you really need to peek into the next chapter? Hmmm? If so, then cast the revealing charm: **Aparecium**! Remember, it only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs._

 _Hold on tight. I'll let you off the cliff on Monday._


	30. Twenty-Three: Lord Black is Frightened

_**A/N:** Many thanks to **Katmom** for reminding me that y'all can't read my mind and see what I'm trying to say. :) She still likes to read my rough and messy words, which is very generous of her because sometimes I am terribly bloodthirsty and she is a very peaceful person._

 _Thanks, too, to all of you who are reading, adding this fic to your lists, and a pint of butterbeer to all who review!_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three: Lord Black is Frightened**

 ** _Tom Riddle's Lair, Somewhere Very Dark_**

Buggering hell! They missed!

Harry didn't take time to check with Neville. Instead he took a breath and steadied his aim. But whilst he was focused on being _steady_ , Voldemort was focused on _death_.

"I see you, Black. I didn't get to you last time, but I will this time. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Neville shouted, "Not for me!" and lifted his shield and his wand. " _Reducto_!"

"Kreacher will avenge Master Regulus!" Kreacher leapt from their hiding pace, half running, half flying toward Tom Riddle. The devastating bolt of the _Avada Kedavra_ hit the ancient house-elf, killing him instantly before he had traveled far at all.

Harry didn't heed this at first, but fired a spell that was messily necessary. It was Dark but not Unforgivable, and Severus Snape had taken him aside at Hogwarts after they'd found the diadem and taught it to him. "Only as a last resort, as you've no time to learn the counter," the greasy git had muttered.

" _Sectumsempra_ ," Harry cast with fierce determination, his aim sure.

That time, they didn't miss. Gashes opened all over Riddle's body, throat to torso, torso to groin to legs. Blood pulsed from his body, visible even in the low lighting.

The group of Death Eaters were motionless, silent for a few seconds, until one of them moved to confirm that their lord was indeed dead . . . in case a half-exploded skull and a body suffering from exsanguination weren't positive indicators already.

"Harry!"

"Right, Nev! Let's go!" He focused on all he had learned training to Apparate. _Destination. Determination. Deliberation_. And he willed himself to his bedroom at Farecliffe Manor.

 _Nothing_ happened. "Shit! Nev! I can't Apparate!"

"There they are, get them!"

Harry's focus splintered, but he and Neville locked eyes for one sharp moment and, somehow, he was able to think again. "Back to back, like they taught us."

"No snakes, today!" Neville countered as they took their paired-to-fight stance.

No phoenix today, either, Harry reflected silently. "Just a bunch of Death Eaters without their head." The black-robed men moved toward them, fanning out to a half-circle and Harry was terrified.

"Protego!" he cried, hearing Neville cast his shield as well.

Then, the curses started firing and Neville had to use his physical shield to keep them both safe. Harry fired, Neville shielded. One enemy fell to another _Reducto_ , and Harry hoped they could winnow them all down enough to escape.

* * *

 ** _Kensington, London_**

Hermione arrived in the below-ground floor of Sirius's London house, garbed entirely in her backless dragonhide body armor. With gloves that had seen a lot more action than the armor had, of late. "I do hope Harry's wearing his. Hope he didn't forget it."

 _Morgana and all the Fae, that would be a nightmare for Sirius._

She took a deep breath to collect herself and checked her hair, which was braided closely against her head. She couldn't afford any irritants or distractions.

Mitts, the house-elf who was devoted to the London house and would not leave it unless compelled to do so by direct order, according to Harry's tales, appeared in front of her. Dressed in a blindingly white tunic with the Black crest embroidered on the middle, the elf peered up at her with pale green eyes. "Missy Otter's be coming here? But Lord Black is not being here."

"I know, Mitts. I'm here to . . . take care of the . . . items that were stored here in the vault. Lord Black and I were here just last week to make sure they were secure. It's time to destroy them, you see." She glanced toward the door, seeing the protective runes all along its seams. "I should be done quickly, though, and I'll close the door behind me once I'm in there so as not to leave anything to chance."

Mitts nodded. "As Missy Otter be wanting. Just be smart, Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black. We's wanting our Lady Black in one piece!"

With a short laugh, Hermione nodded. "I'll do my best. Er, can you open the vault for me? And don't open it again until I say it's safe? This is going to be . . . dangerous."

"Of course, Missy Otter. You will be our Lady Black." With a snap of her fingers, the little house-elf had the vault open. "You's be calling Mitts when you's done and I come open the door again."

"Thank you."

The door closed with a soft sort of permanence. A solid impermeability that she could feel along her skin. Shaking off the low-level dread that resulted, Hermione opened the warded box that contained the horcruxes with a series of spells that Sirius had shown her when they were last here together. Then, she flexed her gloved hands and, non-magically, got the flask with the viscous venom.

She knelt next to the open box, scowling at it until her face was tense with the negative arrangement of her facial muscles. Her heart beat hard and she felt as if she were being gripped by a powerful fist of unimagined tension. "All right then." There were no rituals, here. No runes to add. She merely made sure each horcrux in the container was lying as close to the bottom of the box as possible. Then, she unstoppered the flask and poured the venom slowly over each horcrux.

The box was small enough and the flask large enough to see to it that each item was liberally covered. Still, she swished the venom about a bit, not touching the horcruxes, just to make sure.

Her heart calmed, her body relaxed and she was almost able to smile as the items hissed and mists started coming from them. But then, she heard . . . him and his horrible words and images. Sirius and Remus together. Her parents leaving her behind.

 _So weak, to resort to this. So weak. He doesn't love you, you know. You're just convenient. He loved Remus first and last and always. Your parents resent you every day of their lives._

The accusations pounded at her, rising in concert from the horcruxes in the box and seeming to infuse the very air of the vault with their poisonous implications.

Hermione tried to distance herself, but there was nowhere to go but into her own mind.

* * *

 ** _Werewolf Reserve, Rhiwargor, Wales_**

Padfoot was still a bit overwhelmed at his ability to actually _climb_ on a _dragon_ on four paws. It reminded him of when Hermione was in the First Task and she hadn't had the security of knowing that the dragon was just a best mate's lover. She had just done it. It was eerie enough for Padfoot to do it like he was.

And fun when he got to slide down the dragon's side to land, barking with laughter, on the grass.

Moony and Pinky ambled toward him and Padfoot knew very well what they'd been up to whilst he'd been playing about with their third. But hey, wolves mated for life, right? What they got up to was between themselves!

They couldn't communicate in their forms—were or animagus—but the wolves did figure out how to make themselves understood. They nipped lightly at Padfoot's haunch, herding him away from the dragon and toward the boundary ward.

Was something wrong with the ward? Had someone got in? Tonks surely would have done something if so. He daren't change back into his human skin yet, even though Tonks and Charlie would have kept Remus away if he there was any sign of aggression. Instead, he ran for the wards in his fur and changed as he reached the boundary, letting himself through by sketching the proper runes into the air at the ward line.

He was hurrying, for he saw Krinkle on the other side, tugging on his ears with heretofore unseen dishevelment. Sirius's heart sped as he all but threw himself on his knees in front of the house-elf to meet him eye to eye. "Krinkle. What happened. Is it Harry? Hermione?"

The redoubtable house-elf let out a low sound that landed, to Sirius's sensitive ears, somewhere between a whine and a groan. "Ohhhh, Lord Black. Connie brings Missy Moon to the Manor and Missy Moon tells me that Master Harry and Mister Longbottom is off to see the Big Dark One!"

Terror gripped Sirius's entire body. He couldn't even breathe. If had had one persistent nightmare over the past fifteen years, it was that. Harry and Voldemort in the same place without Sirius himself. Then, his breath came in a reactive rush so that he panted and bent over to brace himself with his arms, heart racing enough to make his robes shiver around him. "Can you take me to him right now?"

He had no words, yet. No words to give voice to the enormity of his thoughts and feelings. Hermione might have words, but he didn't have them. Hermione! Where was she? Why hadn't she—No, it wasn't her job.

It was his!

"I can take you, Lord Black," Krinkle said, sounding diminished and afraid. "But he is far from here."

Sirius pushed himself up on trembling legs and took Krinkle's hand. "Take me to Harry, Krinkle."

The elf nodded, seeming to regain a little of his composure, and in one more heartbeat, they had disappeared. It would only be later, much later, that Sirius remembered he had left behind two highly competent warriors who could have fought at his side.

* * *

 ** _Tom Riddle's Lair, Somewhere Very Dark_**

Harry wiped sweat out of his eye. "Nev! We gotta try to get out of here. _Petrificus Totalis_!" The Death Eater coming up on his left stiffened and fell over, into the path of another of the robed men. "That door, over there!"

Neville ducked and pushed Harry down as well to avoid a bolt of deadly green that hit the wall behind them, sending rock shards everywhere. Harry felt some hit his face and winced. Neville shifted behind his back. "I have an idea!"

"Great! What?"

"Cover me!"

 _Merlin's bollocks_ , Harry thought, shifting to put himself directly in front of Neville, who started to do something or other behind him. "Hey! You with the tattoo!" he shouted. What had Hermione done? She'd shrunk the Death Eater in Hogsmeade. " _Reducio_!" he shouted in the subterranean cavern.

And the Death Eater started to shrink! Excellent!

He set about doing his best with the last two in the room when Neville unexpectedly leapt in front of him, bearing a huge sheet of metal. "My shield! It covers us both! Let's go!"

It reminded him of the days after Sirius gave him his father's Cloak of Invisibility and he and Neville had snuck around Hogwarts after curfew.

One of the men behind them roared, "Get them!" The echo was flat but present as Harry and Neville got through the far door and into an angular corrider with moss or something growing on the walls and one glowing stone set overhead that provided faint illumination.

Smelled worse than it looked, Harry decided, trying to find a way out. Any way out.

Behind him, the Death Eaters were acting just like the villains in the Muggle comic books he and Neville had enjoyed as children.

"But, Nott! . . . my arm!"

"I couldn't give a shite about your arm, they're escaping!"

The screams started then, following them into the corridor and, as one person, Harry and Neville turned, even foolishly dropping the shield Neville bore.

Two figures, one tall and robed and dangerous even in the dim light and one short with long ears, stood between the teens and the Death Eaters. Without even a word, the man managed to make the Death Eaters basically explode, though Harry could only see the edges of what had to be a gory mess. Blood spatter and chunks of flesh while the house-elf snapped its fingers to some purpose or other.

"Anyone else, Krinkle?"

"Dad!"

"Sirius!"

Relief flushed through Harry's whole body, filling him with a cool sensation of wonder that had him running toward his dad, transfigured shield forgotten. "Dad! We got him! Me and Nev!"

"Harry . . . Harry . . ."

* * *

Sirius breathed his son in, the smell of his sweat, the faint scent of whatever it was he was currently using in his personal grooming potions, even the dragonhide body armor had its own odor to it that was unique and distinctive. _My son. My son. My son._

 _Merlin, James, he went and did it. He went and fucking did it._

The tension of the past few minutes leaked out his eyes, though, and into Harry's hair. Sirius didn't heed that as he pulled back to examine his son more carefully before turning and pulling Neville in for an embrace as well. "The two of you," he began, his voice rough and thick and emotion-laden. "The two of you are in so much trouble." His hands were shaking visibly as he ruffled the hair of both the young men. "So. Much."

Harry's eyes—their Potter-Black blend broke his heart, every time he saw them, because his blood had overshadowed Lily's—were wet with tears but his smile was triumphant even so. "I know. But did you see, Dad? Nev, Nev made the most brilliant shield ever and Kreacher—"

Sirius was still trying to sort all his feelings when a bright spark of fury took precedence over them all. "Kreacher?"

Harry held up a hand and actually took a step back. "Now, Dad. He brought us because, because he wanted to avenge . . . your brother. Regulus."

Sirius knew about Kreacher and Regulus, but it wasn't something he addressed with anyone. In truth, the ancient elf's loyalty to Regulus was about the only redeeming quality he had, in Sirius's opinion. Regulus might have been a Death Eater, but he'd been Sirius's little brother first and that bond didn't die even when Reg himself did. So he nodded slowly and eyed the body-strewn chamber behind his son and Neville. "Merlin, what did you do?"

"Well, somewhere around here there might be a tiny little Death Eater or two, after Harry shrunk them."

"And, of course, there's a dead Dark Lord," Harry added.

"And Kreacher," Sirius whispered, seeing the prone form of the house-elf, stepping over robed bodies to reach the side of the pale Kreacher. Kneeling, he felt for a pulse but found none. "He's dead."

Neville sighed but didn't move from his spot. "He must've taken that _Avada_ , Harry."

Sirius bounced to his feet again. "What?"

Harry gestured across the chamber and cast a furiously bright _Lumos_. "Voldemort cast the Killing Curse and, and Kreacher tried to avenge his favorite master at the same time."

Under the unforgiving light of Harry's powerful illumination charm, Sirius winced at the destruction that lay before him. Blood. Bodily fluids in drying puddles. A couple of stiff bodies that did not seem to be dead but petrified. Which was fine. But at the far end, with half his head gone and a huge gashes rent in blood-soaked fabric and too-pale flesh, was the unmistakable form of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort. Holding up his hand in a silent request for Harry and Neville to stay where they were, Sirius slowly approached the body, wand at the ready. He cast a couple of quick, field-appropriate diagnostic spells to reassure himself that it was indeed a corpse that had collapsed on the stone floor in front of a throne-like chair. That being determined, Sirius pursed his lips. "Well done," he managed to say at length. "Well done, boys."

Here was the monster. The terror. The single wizard who had been the nightmare of the Wizarding World in one way or another for more than twenty years. Alive in the seventies, a phantom and cautionary tale in the eighties and most of the nineties, and most recently a resurrected horror. He was dead, now.

Then, Sirius had a thought that sent his heart speeding like his motorcycle. "Horcruxes. If we want him to stay this way, we've got to get them taken care of. Krinkle!"

"Yes, Lord Black." The elf seemed to have recovered all his lost dignity and poise, coming forth amidst the wreckage of the small chamber to meet Sirius's eyes.

Sirius waved an arm about the room. "These, living and dead, need to be watched. And we need Aurors here to see to . . . him." He looked to Harry. "Am I right in assuming there are Anti-Apparition wards here? Kreacher brought you, of course, but you didn't do the hit-and-run thing that I know Hermione was proposing."

Harry looked sheepish, running a hand over his mussed hair and rocking restlessly up to his toes. "Yeah. That. We tried to Apparate away but we couldn't. So we got stuck after we killed him. Are you, are you still mad?"

Sirius stared at his son, the precious boy entrusted to him by his dearest friends so long ago, and felt his heart squeeze almost painfully. The vulnerability in youthful eyes contrasted powerfully with the fulfillment of a prophecy that was evidenced all around them. But still, too, were the tremors of the terror he'd felt upon arriving with Krinkle, and the knowledge that Harry could have died. Harry and Neville could have been killed. And no one would have known where they were until likely Voldemort himself produced their corpses in the Ministry Atrium as a proclamation of victory.

"Oh yeah," he finally managed to say. "I'm still mad." Then, he had to smile a little. "But I'm also enormously proud and relieved and will do my best, Neville, to keep your grandmother from confiscating your wand until you're thirty. For now, we have things to do. Harry, your Patronus to Remus. Neville, the same for Augusta, let her know you'll be at Farecliffe. I'll get a message to Hermione and have her meet me in London."

"Not us?"

Sirius shook his head and leveled a most serious look at the young men. "You might have vanquished Voldemort, but neither of you are seventeen yet and you will be holed up where the elves will keep an eye on you, far away from the horcruxes, until there is no more danger there. Krinkle, you're in charge of watching over the bodies."

There was a flurry of wand waving as Patronuses were sent and as Sirius, Neville, and Harry called house-elves to them to get them out of Voldemort's underground chamber to Derbyshire. Sirius didn't have this obsidian otter . . . thing . . .so he contented himself with sending his Patronus to Hermione to say, _Mission Accomplished. Come to Derbyshire to celebrate, please?_

He watched as the silvery Grim bounded off through the ceiling and then Sirius bade the boys goodbye whilst he himself sought to dismantle the wards that had kept them there in the first place. This was rather a consuming task and it wasn't until his cousin Tonks showed up—tired but clearly ready to work even so—with Connie that Sirius realized he hadn't heard from Hermione yet.

He and Tonks exchanged all the to-be-expected greetings and expressions of wonder, but his cousin was super-enthusiastic about it, prefacing each statement with "Merlin!"

"Merlin! They did it? They did it! Remus is going to burst in pride!"

"Merlin, I saw they weren't dead but are you going to kill them? Augusta might, so . . ."

"Merlin! We need to get Amelia. Let me send her a message, Sirius."

"Merlin—"

"Enough with the Merlin stuff, _Nymphadora_!"

"Hey!"

Sirius dragged his hands through his hair. "Look. I really need to get back to my kid. Can you just do the Auror thing and handle this? And make damned sure no one accuses the boys of anything wrong. I don't care how old they are. I don't care about Traces or anything else. The only thing that matters is that it's over, understood?"

Tonks settled her hair into a sweet, spun-sugar pink. "Absolutely. But you'll have to deal with Skeeter."

"Can't you make yourself look like me and talk to her?"

Tonks grinned, her eyes bright silver for a moment. "Oi! I like that!"

He studied her for a moment as she morphed into a replica of himself and shook his head. "On second thought . . . forget I said anything."

She laughed, before changing the subject. "Was Hermione at Farecliffe?"

"Not that I heard, no. Actually, she hasn't responded to the message I sent. I'll track her down, let her know it's over." Saying it made it even more real to him and he felt almost lightheaded, reaching out to brace himself against the cool stone of the wall for a moment. " _Over_. Merlin, I don't know if I'll _ever_ get used to that."

Tonks eyed him with one cocked brow. "You just remember that before you start yelling at Harry, yeah? Moody would tear him a new one if he were in the Corps, but he's only sixteen and he, well, he achieved the impossible, didn't he? Him and Longbottom. So try to keep that in mind."

Sirius nodded, but then he snorted. "I just can't go all that easy on him, though. He'll be using this as an excuse for everything under the sun for the rest of his life."

He left Tonks to finish the wards before calling for his Boss House-Elf. "Krinkle! Take me home. Tell Amelia, Tonks, that I said hello."

House-elves were incredible, Sirius decided as Krinkle brought him right to his suite of rooms at Farecliffe. "Will Lord Black be wanting something else?"

"No, Krinkle, not here. Just please oversee the, er, bodies until Madam Bones has cleared that chamber, all right?"

"As Lord Black wishes," Krinkle said with a bow.

Feeling like he desperately needed a shower, Sirius also really wanted to share the good news with his fiancée so he picked up the obsidian otter from his night table. "Hermione Granger."

He waited, carrying it in one hand as he moved to find a pair of jeans and shirt in his dressing room. It was the middle of the night so he didn't worry about the delay in her answer until he was stripping down for his shower. "Hermione Granger!" he called more loudly. She had told him she kept her Grim at her bedside, as he did, so she should be able to hear him, shouldn't she? He didn't think she'd had plans that evening.

When there was no answer, he abandoned the shower idea and threw on a dressing gown with a pocket for the otter before leaving the room. "Harry?" he called out, a bit louder than he normally spoke but not so loudly that he'd wake him up if he and Neville had taken a draught of something.

Merlin, they might have decided to open the firewhisky. He'd let them, he knew.

"Lord Black!"

Luna Lovegood appeared at the door of Harry's suite, her long hair wrapped in a tangled in braid. She was wearing Harry's Quidditch jersey over a black and white skirt with a—petticoat?—under it and was bare of leg beyond that. He suppressed his rather amused snort. "Luna, hello. Did Harry call you with his news?"

Her eyes were wide and solemn. "No, Lord Black."

"Sirius."

"No, Sirius," she said immediately, without any of the odd airs she often adopted in conversation. "Your soulmate needs you."

"I've not been able to get her to answer me," he confided, coming closer to the door and peeking in over the girl's shoulder. "I wanted to share the good news with her."

"She went to help, you know. She felt she could, since I told her Harry had . . . gone. She said she would be taking care of things at your London house."

"Luna?" Harry's voice arrowed to him. "Are you here, Moon? Still?"

"Yes, Night. Talking to your father."

"Oh! Dad! You need to check with Hermione. My Moon said she went to handle the horcruxes."

Sirius paled. "Alone?"

Luna smiled, then. A surprised smile, as if admonishing him for being dense. _Ravenclaws_ . . .

"Sirius. You know Hermione even better than I do. Can you suppose she would _not_ seek to act as soon as possible if she had the means to do so and knew that time was of the essence? Really?"

Harry stood behind his soulmate and wrapped both arms about her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Luna said I had to stay here. She's taking care of me and Nev."

"Well, the Moon presides over the Night and all that grows within it when she is full," the young woman declared, leaning fully into Harry's body. "But the Mighty Sword of Gryffindor is at rest just now. His shield set aside for sleep." She sighed and patted Harry's hand. "I'll make sure the Night meets his proper place, Lord Black. Tell Hermione hello for us."

They withdrew and shut the door and Sirius was left standing there. Had he just let his son and his son's girlfriend . . .

Apparently, he had. He had no place to talk and they were soulmates and Harry had just killed the darkest wizard on the planet so . . .

He could ground his son tomorrow.

Just now, he needed to make sure _his_ soulmate was in _her_ proper place. Beside him. In bed. Preferably naked.

He dashed upstairs, took a record-breaking, two-minute shower, eschewed shaving, and pulled on the jeans and Gryffindor-red shirt he'd set out for himself before dashing to the Floo in his rooms and calling out for his London house. He arrived to see Mitts, pacing, wringing her ears and fretting aloud in the corridor.

"Missy Otter?"

Alarm spiked in his brain in a nearly physical way and he once again braced himself against a wall. "Mitts?"

"Oh, Lord Black is being back! Mitts doesn't know what is happening but Mitts daren't go see because Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black says for Mitts not to be's going in there. Danger, she's be saying! But Lord Black, Missy Otter's not hearing Mitts!"

He felt his blood leave his face again, but contained his building fright. What had Hermione done? Bending over, he carefully took Mitts's shoulders under his hands. "She's in the vault?"

"Yes, Lord Black!"

He blew out a breath and flicked his wand into his hand. "Stay back, Mitts, and if I say _Go!_ , call for Krinkle."

"Mitts will call Krinkle!"

With a wave of his wand, Sirius checked the door for wards and found only his own. That was good. He opened the vault door and was immediately assailed with a foul stench that had him bending over and retching—to no effect—on the floor as he struggled to breathe.

The vault was utterly dark so he cast a silent _Lumos_ and saw Hermione, pale and still. "Hermione!" For the second time in only an hour or so, Sirius Black felt terror engulf his entire body. Terror and guilt for not being where he had been needed. Not for Harry, who had joined forces with another boy to defeat a great evil and not for his soulmate, who had faced the disembodied essence of that evil four times over.

He whispered her name over and again as he crawled to her side, sliding her utterly lax form into his arms and across his lap. Before him was the horcrux storage container they'd charmed and warded to keep the things safe. The empty venom flask was also there. The box was charred, its contents having no allure at all. They were merely . . . things. Empty items that had once had great danger attached to them.

She'd done it.

As Harry and Neville had.

Her skin was warm, her breath was unhampered, but she still had not awakened so he decided to bring her out of whatever it was without waiting. " _Rennervate_ ," he murmured, willing it to work. The Revival Spell wasn't universally effective.

And it wasn't for Hermione. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," he tried next.

She remained still. Asleep, perhaps. "Hermione," he whispered, drawing her whole form up close against his chest, wondering if she could hear his heart's frantic plea. "Wake up, love. You're so brave, so very brave. I need you to be awake so I can tell you. Please."

He held her up so that he could brush his lips against hers, thinking of Muggle fairy tales and wondering if any of them could possibly be true.

"Mmm, Sirius . . ."

"Hermione!" Relief took all his strength and he fell back on the floor, bringing her with him. "Hermione, I was so worried. What were you thinking?"

"Is Harry all right?" she asked, her voice rough and dry sounding.

"Just fine. They did it, you know. He'll tell us the whole story tomorrow—today?—but they did it. He's gone. And, thanks to you, beautiful girl, he won't be coming back ever. Why . . . why did you do this on your own? Why didn't you call me first or wait 'til tomorrow or—"

After a long, slow inhalation, she met his questions with a furrow between her brows. "When I found out that they'd gone . . . tonight . . . I knew the horcruxes would have to be destroyed. If Voldemort was going to lose his body, he'd be looking for another bit of himself to try again. I couldn't let him, Sirius. I just couldn't. And . . . and you were checking the wards and . . . and I didn't trust anyone else. He's still got followers out there and they know you were involved and . . ."

"Well, you make more logical sense than Harry and Neville," he allowed, smoothing his fingertips over her forehead, trying to remove the marks of worry, there.

She smiled, but there was pain in her eyes that didn't go away as he watched. "I couldn't let them hurt you again for this." Her words were not happy in tone, nor did she sound assured as she usually did.

That was a problem. "What happened in here, love?"

Shame warred with the pain already pulling at her expression. "The horcruxes . . . didn't want to die. They said all sorts of terrible things . . . about you and me and you and Remus and my parents and . . ."

She was trembling. Making a decision, Sirius shifted and stood, bringing her up with him. "Mitts?"

"Yes, Lord Black?" the loyal elf asked timidly, peeking in from the hall.

"Close the vault and don't let anyone in until I've cleaned it out. That means anyone. Except maybe Krinkle. Not my son, not my fiancée. Understand?"

Mitts beamed, apparently in full approval. "Yes, Lord Black. It shall be as you be saying!"

Then, Sirius Apparated himself and Hermione up to his suite and immediately took her to the gray and taupe tiled shower. "Come. Let's get you cleaned up and relaxed, love. _You_ are the only love of my life. You will _always_ be my lady, no matter _what_ the spirit of Tom Riddle tried to tell you, all right?" She had no spark, his Hermione, so he tried to find it again. "And your parents love you."

"They don't want me." Her eyes welled up and she resisted his efforts to peel the body armor off of her. "No one wants me."

"Stop. Let me wash your hair, and while I'm at it, I'll remind you of how very loved you are, all right?"

She stood in front of him, hands at her sides, and stared into his eyes. Her own were tired, so very tired. "I'm sorry. I think I just . . ." With a helpless gesture, she turned around and he was presented with her bare back. "Help me?"

"Do I have to close my eyes this time?"

And, at last, she smiled over her shoulder at him, a spark of memory in her eyes. "No, not this time. And I'll even let you enact a fantasy."

"Oh?"

"You can wash my hair."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** One more chapter! Can you believe it? In which we have house-elves persuading their Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black to reconsider waiting to get married. And two young wizards are grounded. Or something. And yes, I do believe I might have a sneak peek for you in there somewhere. No promises as to what that peek'll be about, mind you. Just cast the revealing charm: **Aparecium**! Remember, it only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs._


	31. Chapter Twenty-Four: Happily Ever After

_A/N: And we're here! A big thank you to EVERYONE reading this story. I've enjoyed getting to interact personally with many of you, so thanks for reviewing and sending me notes. A final curtsy today to_ ** _Sundaegirl99_** _for catching review #1500. You guys are all fantastic._

 _Also a last pint of butterbeer to_ ** _Katmom_** _. Because she's awesome._

 _As is my apparent custom when I write an epilogue, I tend to present the future in snippets to that you wonderful people who have spent time with these characters have an idea as to "what happened after"._

* * *

 ** _Chapter Twenty-Four: Happily Ever After_**

"You did _what_ last night?"

Augusta Longbottom's shriek carried throughout the entirety of Farecliffe Hall. In fact, it may have extended out into Derbyshire, as far as Sirius could tell. She was not wearing her vulture-bedecked hat that day, but her own hair quivered with her emotion. She collapsed immediately into the chair he'd subtly made sure was behind her as soon as Neville and Harry—and Luna!—made it down to the breakfast room the morning after what Sirius planned on calling _The_ _Longest Night of My Life_ for the foreseeable future.

"Gran." Neville's smile was lopsided, boyish, charming, but Sirius was certain Augusta was not vulnerable to its appeal just then. "We killed Voldemort. Me and Harry. And Kreacher," he added after a look at Sirius and Hermione. "Like the prophecy said had to happen."

"You. Could. Have. Been. Killed!" The woman was shaking in a very obvious way. Sirius wanted to comfort her but she and her grandson needed to get this out. "How? How could you even think? And you!" She pointed a trembling finger at Harry. "Getting him into this, were you? Like that business with the basilisk!"

"Ma'am, no," Harry said, hands up in a placating manner. "It's never been like that. We're a team, Nev and I and—"

"And you!" Augusta continued, ignoring Harry to turn and aim her wrath at Sirius. "Where were you when all this was happening? Out with Hermione?"

That was the limit. Sirius stood between her and Hermione and glared darkly at her. "Do not speak of the future Lady Black, not even in an aside, in that tone, Augusta. I won't stand for it." The older witch looked mildly abashed and her trembling seemed to lessen. "I know what they did was rash and ill-considered," he went on to say, keeping his tone as even as possible whilst memories of the scene with Tom Riddle's corpse were forefront in his mind. "But they did manage to succeed and they weren't even injured. Not even a hex reached them thanks to your grandson and his transfiguration abilities and my son's armor."

" _Accio_ , wand!" Augusta said, sounding as if she were crowing in triumph. Neville's wand flew from him and landed in her hand. "No wand privileges until you return to school in September!"

Neville' looked devastated, his mouth falling open as if to protest. He even turned to Sirius himself, but Sirius made his expression stern, remembering how terrified he'd been the night before. Without a word, Neville slumped over and nodded.

Harry's whole body expressed his trepidation. So as not to be seen as negating what Augusta had done—they'd raised the boys so closely together, over the years—Sirius wordlessly Summoned Harry's wand as well.

He gave it back two days later, though both boys were . . .sort of . . . grounded.

When the press wanted to talk to them all—and they did—the interviews were conducted in London.

* * *

"Missy Otter! So's you can be being our Lady Black now?"

Hermione heard this question at least once every single time she made an appearance in either of Sirius's homes. Not from Krinkle; the dignified house-elf had indeed inquired once if they were setting a wedding date so he could prepare the estate, but she'd said she had things to do first. "You'll be the first to know, though, Krinkle. Thank you so much for all you do for the House of Black."

The other elves were not so accommodating. Connie made it a point to always use the extended form of address: _Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black_. Every. Single. Time. And all the other elves were doing likewise. Every. Single. Time.

"Well, it is respectful and accurate," Sirius had said when she asked him if he could please get them to refrain. "And I don't want to discourage those qualities."

"Besides, you want me to give in," she had countered when he smirked.

Of course, when everyone at Longbottom Manor had done likewise at Neville's Coming of Age birthday party, that had exacerbated the situation.

Neville and Harry were being touted as the Heroes of the Wizarding World and already had deals with the makers of the Chocolate Frog cards for their likenesses and so on.

"Orders of Merlin are undoubtedly forthcoming," Sirius had jested over an intimate dinner in early August. "They actually made Neville Head Boy and Harry Quidditch Captain for their seventh year."

"I'm sure they were both over the moon. Did Augusta let Neville off probation?"

"No. But can you believe he Apparated anyway? Wandlessly?"

"Yvette told me he went to see her and showed off." Hermione smiled and sipped at her wine. "She also said they made it official. Betrothed and everything."

Sirius sighed happily. "That's good. Maybe Augusta will let up sooner rather than later."

"Will you?"

"No." He grinned broadly. "I'm quite enjoying having Harry underfoot. He hasn't quite got the wandless Apparition down yet, but Luna is providing him with incentive."

* * *

"Missy Otter! So's you can be being our Lady Black now?"

"What? No, Connie. I'm trying just now to figure out how to decline an Order of Merlin."

"What? Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black _cannot_ decline an Order of Merlin!"

Sirius watched as Hermione's hair seemed to puff out with her frustration as she read and re-read the parchment in her hand. They were in the London house and he had passed the notification along to her straight from the Wizengamot not half an hour past. "Hermione, love, she's got a point. How do you decline something like that? Why would you want to?"

"Krinkle was right there, right there with you when you went to get Harry. Kreacher—I know you had issues, Sirius, I do, but still—he went with Harry and Neville and was instrumental in Voldemort's defeat. Neither of them are being offered any kind of commendation, posthumous or otherwise. That is absolutely not fair and I don't want to participate without them." She nodded for emphasis and Sirius thought it was adorable but he didn't smile. His soulmate had a temper on her, to be sure. "So I'll accept the very kind Order of Merlin, Third Class, with a proper smile and all when they offer at least that to Krinkle and Kreacher."

Forbearing to remind her that Neville and Harry were accepting their Orders of Merlin, First Class medals without conditions, Sirius merely joined his fiancée on the sofa in front of the fire. "Connie, please bring us tea."

"Yes sir, Lord Black!" The house-elf popped away with a minimum of fuss and Sirius turned his focus to Hermione.

"You should speak to the Wizengamot, love," he said, sliding his arm behind her and tugging her against himself. "You'd do wonderfully."

"They won't listen to a thing I say," she reminded him balefully. "I'm Muggleborn and was educated in France."

"They _might_ listen if you were the proven lady of an established line," he said softly into her hair.

"You're as bad as the house-elves, love. You know that, don't you?" She sighed and rested more of herself against him.

They eventually shifted to recline on the sofa, Sirius relishing the way her body molded to his own. Each curve, each line familiar to him and highly treasured. "Want your tea now?" he inquired.

"Mmm, no. I'm rather comfortable right here. You?"

"Same."

"Did they do all right at the Reserve last week?" she asked softly as she traced soft patterns on his arm.

His hands were not so soft as he caressed her hips and slid under the blouse she was wearing. "Quite well. Next is working on the employment laws for werewolves."

"Excellent." She nuzzled him and before he knew it, his shirt was unbuttoned and she was tracing more soft patterns . . . this time with her tongue. "Mmm, you taste good."

He quickly flipped her over, pushing up her very sensible skirt to get at her entirely sexy knickers to do some nuzzling of his own. "I love," he said, his voice muffled against lace and skin, "that Harry's in school."

She laughed, the sound low and husky as he slid her knickers from her legs. "Another fantasy, then, Lord Black?"

"Shagging the stunning future Lady Black in my drawing room? Well, it's crossed my mind," he confessed, divesting himself of his trousers and underwear, but leaving his unbuttoned shirt on. She, after all, was still mostly dressed. He hooked one of her knees up on the back of the sofa, leaving her open and bare to him. "Absolutely crossed my mind," he said more softly as he knelt on the floor and tilted her for maximum access.

She moaned, and her body indicated her complete readiness as he tasted and traced his own patterns on her mound—which was mostly bare, these days, as she'd discovered he quite liked that. "Sirius . . . this feels so . . ."

"Hot? Naughty?"

" _Yes_. Oh, Sweet Circe, _there_ . . ."

He was just bringing her down from what he had hoped to be her _first_ orgasm of the afternoon when Remus decided that it was a perfect time to show up.

"Bloody hell, Pads! Close the Floo if you're not ready for company!"

Worried that Hermione would be horrified, mortified, or furious, Sirius immediately pulled her skirt down and positioned himself in front of her, only then remembering that _he_ was the one who was bare-arsed in the room. Hermione was red in the face, but she was also laughing and sputtering out an apology.

Remus made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, there's nothing of his I've not seen before, _Miss Granger_."

"It's _Hermione_!"

* * *

"Missy Otter! So's you can be being our Lady Black _now_?"

Mitts asked this in front of her parents at the formal dinner Krinkle had decided to host for Hermione's eighteenth birthday. Luna Lovegood merely tilted her head and smiled at some invisible something over Hermione's head whilst Harry tried ineffectually to stifle a laugh. The two Hogwarts students had been granted leave to come to her birthday party and had, in effect, been given the weekend away from school.

Hermione caught her breath and darted wide-eyed glances to her mother and father, who looked extremely taken aback. "Er, no, not today, Mitts," she decided to say.

"Mitts is not thinking that Missy Otter be Lady Black _today_!"

"Well, that's a relief," her dad said, wiping imaginary perspiration from his forehead.

"I've had no time to plan a wedding!" her mum declared, hand over her heart as if the thought of a tossed-together event would give her palpitations.

Hermione stared at both her parents before shifting her focus to her fiancé. "Sirius? Help?" She had promised him that she would marry him in the Wizarding manner according his traditions, but she hadn't even started looking at those traditions yet as she had only just received offers from both Severus Snape and Lady Ehrmengard about apprenticing with them. She'd have to choose, though, and she hadn't made a decision yet. As both of them had proposed starting in January of next year, she had thought she'd had time to focus on the House-Elf Rights proposal she'd been drafting in response to the Order of Merlin brouhaha. She certainly hadn't been planning her wedding.

Even if she had been, privately, trying out new ways to write her name. _Hermione Jean Black. Hermione Granger Black. H.J. Granger-Black._ She rather suspected, though, that "Granger" would be relegated to a middle name as Sirius was from an Ancient and Noble House and even marrying a Muggleborn would be divergence enough for the time being.

Sirius cleared his throat and smiled charmingly at her parents. Hermione allowed herself to just enjoy and appreciate him; he was so good with people. "You won't have to worry about a thing, Emma," he told her mother. They were all on a first-name basis, which gave her mum no end of joy. "Hermione has asked—and of course I'm bowing to her every whim as she'll be the bride—to be bonded in accordance with the traditions of the House of Black."

Her mother's eyes went big and round, disappointment warring with academic curiosity. "What kinds of traditions?"

Hermione steeled herself, for Sirius had mischief flaring from his eyes. Normally, that expression made her inexpressibly happy. But just now, she knew to look for the double meaning in every phrase.

"Well, Emma, Dan, my family's traditions go back hundreds of years." He produced a leather-bound set of what looked like loose leaves of parchment. "The family grimoire, here, states that any couple who have made the kind of commitment to one another than Hermione and I have, have ceremonies we must use to marry."

She wrapped gratitude up in her magic and pushed it to him, hoping he'd feel how thankful she was that he avoided using words like "soulmate" and "bonding rituals".

Harry held up a finger in a bid for attention. "Hermione herself, being the Triwizard Champion and all, is rather famous as well. Being born of non-magical parents can be awkward so it's important for her standing in our society that she adhere to the traditions."

Inwardly, Hermione cringed because she felt like Harry was playing her parents and it made her unhappy, but he hadn't been wrong. She was under pressure—subtle, but pervasive—to conform to the stringent traditions due to her age, her blood status, and the House she was marrying into. Outwardly, though, she nodded. In the end, she would be married to Sirius, which she very much wanted. Eventually.

"What . . . what kinds of traditions?"

Sirius untied the leather binding and made a show of shifting through rune-bedecked sheets. She wondered if he could read any of it. "Well, we would need to perform the ceremony under the same moon phase that one of us was born under. We know those already, so that's one thing down. And traditional weddings are, er," he shot a bright glance at her, his cheekbones enhanced with his efforts to withhold a grin, "done skyclad, as they used to say."

"Naked ceremonies," Luna said to clarify, her own grin broad and comfortable. "My mother was married in one of the old ways and her ceremony was done skyclad. I want to do the same, to keep my family's traditions." She feathered her hand through Harry's hair and Hermione had all she could do not to roll over and laugh at Harry's red-faced discomfiture.

" _My_ mother," Sirius said a bit more loudly to command the attention back to himself, "didn't hold with that herself. She had a charmed set of robes. Hermione could have some made. And then there are the vows and all . . . they have to be said before a certain calibre of witch or wizard, who will then bind us together in accordance with our commitment to each other. The result is a tattoo on our wrists. Mine and hers." He reached for her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist and, as always, the gesture made her heart flutter.

She could do this.

Just not that evening.

* * *

"So, naked weddings?"

It was Hermione's voice that asked and Luna's that answered, "Oh, yes. But the best benefit of course, was giving my Night ideas!"

Sirius laughed, uncaring that the sound alerted the young women to his presence. "Good morning, ladies." He served himself from the sideboard, starting with coffee. Mondays required reinforcement.

"Morning, love," Hermione replied, rising and kissing his cheek. "I decided to put my argument in front of people, by the way, rather that the Wizengamot."

"She's the first person ever to advocate for House-Elves to receive an Order of Merlin, Lord Black," Luna piped in, raising a cup of what appeared to be lemon and water in salute to Hermione. "I'll put her on the front page. My father is very excited about this."

Sirius wasn't entirely sure how that would go over, but such an article could well be influential and would certainly get people thinking, which he said to the young women. "Making a name for yourself early, love?"

She sighed playfully, leaning back in her chair with a cup of tea. "Well, I did make that a condition, didn't I? And the elves have been awfully . . . persistent."

He stilled for a moment, his heart actually skipping a beat or two as he considered her implications. Her eyes warmed and danced, her intention plain for him to read and he grinned. "Well, they're quite focused," was all he said.

Luna hummed happily over the parchment she was reading and didn't appear to notice a thing.

The article, when it was printed, garnered discussion in the Wizengamot. and Sirius took up figurative arms in defense of his soulmate.

And stood right at her side when she had to defend her position wherever they went for _weeks_.

* * *

It was her first night in her new place. She was renting a flat in Hogsmeade, so Sirius had a base that was right next to the school. Flooing to London was easy, and to get to her parents, she could Floo to Sirius's house and then Apparate—or take a taxi—to Lancaster Gardens. She wasn't entirely unpacked yet, but she and Sirius were relaxing and Connie had insisted on helping Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black.

"Even though we elves know it won't be for long that Missy Otter-to-be-Lady Black be's living here!"

She'd learned to smile and move on from the appellation, and chose to do so that evening, curled up on the sofa in her own, Remus-has-no-access flat.

The new flat was actually one more box checked off on her plan. The path she had sketched out to herself of things to do before she agreed to actually take up the role of Lady Black. The papers were speculating, letters from her old schoolmates at Beauxbatons had lots of salacious inquiries, and of course the house-elves were perpetually pushing. But the closer she came, she more she was pricked by the insecurity raised by the bloody horcruxes. Even though she knew they were lying, that Tom Riddle had no idea who she was and was in fact likely already dead by the time she was destroying the pieces of his soul, she was still bothered.

"Are you sure?"

He was holding her hand, seemingly transfixed by the ring he'd placed there. "Sure about what, love?"

"Me. Compared to, well, other relationships . . ." She hated herself for saying it, hated herself for being so insecure, but. " _Merde_! I'm sorry."

"Not the first time you've mentioned it, Hermione." He pressed his lips together and shifted over to meet her gaze. "I can't tell you how much I wish I'd been there for you, that night."

"That's all on me," she insisted softly, watching his fingers play with hers. She loved his hands. Long, capable fingers with light calluses on them, they surrounded hers and made her feel loved and cared for and safe. "I just . . . I remember how you looked at the Yule Ball, you know. He had a look in his eye . . ."

Sirius sighed a little and pulled her over to straddle his thighs. "Hermione. I am so happy with you. You're my soulmate, remember? We had our time, Remus and I did, but now I have you and I intend to be bound to you forever. This life and the next, you know? Soulmates can do that. And I could not be happier." He drew her down to slide his lips over hers, gently, then tracing her mouth with his tongue, persuading, begging with small sounds to let him in, let him show her.

And she did.

When she woke the next morning, her heart was lighter. Sirius was smiling, naked in bed beside her, hair tousled on the beautiful pillowcases in her own flat and she was more content to wake like this than she had ever been.

* * *

"Hermione Granger!"

His voice came through on the obsidian Grim, the excitement in it palpable. Hermione had been doing some pre-reading in _Plants to Potions_ text Severus Snape had recommended she be in full comprehension of before beginning her work with him after the new year.

"Hermione Granger!"

She was scrambling to reach the . . . thing . . . after marking her place in the book, forgetting only too late that she could have Summoned it and saved herself a barked shin and a bent page. "Sirius!"

"The vote! It's up for the vote! In this afternoon's session. Get your pretty arse down here in your most Order of Merlinesque robes!"

She felt as if she'd had the breath knocked from her lungs as she told Sirius she'd do her best. That had gone quite quickly. He'd only introduced her House-Elf Recognition Bill in early November, in response to the surprising surge of positivity following her presentation/rant/op-ed piece that appeared in the _Quibbler_.

It had helped, of course, that she was the acknowledged fiancé of Lord Black. It also helped that she was the acknowledged Champion of the Triwizard Tournament. But most impressive of course, was that everyone was thrilled that Voldemort was dead for real and forever and his corpse had been seen by many.

So the revered members of the Wizengamot had been accepting of at least hearing the proposed bill that would recognize Kreacher and Krinkle for their roles in the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort and the survival of Harry James Black and Neville Francis Longbottom. She wasn't asking for a new standing for all House-Elves. Just those two.

Sirius had advised her to start small. She had.

"Krinkle!" she called, even though she was in her Hogsmeade flat.

The house-elf appeared in her bedroom, appearing as unperturbed as if she were in Derbyshire. "Yes, Miss Granger?" He, at least, used her proper name and Hermione smiled at him. "How can Krinkle be of service?"

"You can put on your best robes and take me to the Wizengamot!"

The elf's dark blue eyes widened for a moment before returning to their usual impassivity. "Yes, Miss Granger. Is Lord Black there?"

"He is and he just told me to get there in a hurry and you should accompany me."

Her heart was all but dancing inside her chest as she pulled on her "meeting the Potions Master" conservative outfit to go underneath a formal set of black silk robes that were reminiscent of Sirius's. She made sure her ring was polished and her hair in a decorous coronet, with tendrils wisping about her temples. When Krinkle returned, he bowed to her and she nodded to him, extending her hand. "Please take me to the Wizengamot, Krinkle."

They appeared in the Atrium, as house-elves can go almost anywhere save the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione endeavored to look as utterly unperturbed as her escort. "Krinkle will take you to the Chamber, Miss Granger."

"That would be most kind."

Sirius met them halfway there, eyes alight in mischief. "This is going to change everything, Hermione. I never would have thought it, but it will." He took her left hand in his and pressed his lips decorously just above her betrothal ring. "You are going to be an amazing Lady Black." He then turned to house-elf. "Thank you, Krinkle. Well done. Please join us."

The old elf actually rocked back on his small heels. "Lord Black?"

"Come with us."

"As the Lord Black wishes . . ." He followed behind them, Hermione saw, with every appearance of wariness. She didn't blame him. This had to be unusual.

There was a lot of talk, a lot of staring, a lot of muttering.

And that was just from Krinkle.

In the end, though, the Wizengamot voted to award the Order of Merlin, Third Class (one Posthumously), to the two house-elves who had been most instrumental in bringing about the downfall of Voldemort: Krinkle and Kreacher.

The pictures went out to the entirety of the Wizarding world the following day.

* * *

"Missy Otter! So's you can be being our Lady Black _now_?"

New Year's Eve was a vastly different occasion this year than it had been the year before, Sirius reflected as he heard Hermione discussing arrangements with Mitts and Connie in the Kensington house. He heard Connie's question and let it slide in one ear and out the other.

Oh, at first he'd heeded each answer, his whole being alert to Hermione's possible acquiescence. But after, oh, the first _hundred_ negative replies, he'd laughed it off. He had asked, she'd said yes, and he was more or less content to wait for a bit before wheedling a bonding date from her. He wanted to be married before he was forty and she'd said that worked for her.

That meant fewer than two years and Sirius Orion Black could look at the long term, right? Of course he could.

"Connie, you keep asking me that question."

"Ask her just once more!" Luna Lovegood advised the house-elf.

This pricked Sirius's ear so that he closed the vault—where he'd been finding the perfect jeweled ensemble for Hermione to gift her with—and moved stealthily down the corridor to the kitchen. But even though he'd tried for entering secretively, she still knew he was there. Probably due to his emotions that suddenly spiked.

She looked up from her conversation with Connie and smiled at him shyly. Her answer was for the elf, but the smile was entirely for him, he knew.

"I can be your Lady Black now."

Exultation swooped through Sirius's body. He leapt over a chair, tapped Luna on her pretty blond head, and swept Hermione into his arms. "Now?"

"Well, for that ritual you mentioned, we might want to wait 'til just before Beltane. It would be . . ."

"Deemed a boon by all!" Luna declared getting up to dance lightly around the couple. "On the moon of your birth, Sirius, and close enough to the rites of fertility!"

Hermione blushed but did not drop her gaze as she leaned in to Sirius's face. "Well, not quite ready for _that_ , but otherwise . . ."

"When?"

"April thirtieth," Luna answered, as if she'd been part of the private conversation all along. The young woman did have her own sense of things, Sirius had learnt in the time she'd been with his son. "And no, Hermione, you don't have to do it without robes." Sirius gasped and gaped at the girl as she added, "Harry and I can carry that tradition, when it's time."

"Has he . . . has he asked, Luna?" Hermione wondered, sliding down Sirius's body so that her feet touched the floor. Sirius didn't let her escape his arms, however.

Luna shook her head so that the tiny faerie lights wound amongst her curls seemed to dance a bit. "Oh no. I'll just tell him when it's time."

Harry appeared then, Apparating into the kitchen with his tie hanging loosely about his neck. "What are you all laughing at?"

Sirius decided not to say.

Connie didn't either, for she had gone off to alert all the elves of the house, her voice ringing like a tiny bell. It was soon joined by all the others as all the house-elves, even Krinkle, came to congratulate Missy Otter on her good sense.

* * *

The night was cloud-blanketed but free of moonlight in Derbyshire on the night of their binding. It was chilly and they daren't add warming charms to interfere with the ancient rites, so the guests were wrapped in blankets made of wool or robes of natural weaves as they stood in the meadow on the Farecliffe property. They formed a circle around Hermione and Sirius and Lady Ehrmengard, who had consented to perform the ceremony. Harry and Luna had come, as had Neville, Yvette, and Augusta. Remus, Tonks, and Charlie were in attendance as well, and their triad had sparked a great deal of interest in the Runes Mistress. She'd asked to speak with them later.

Hermione smiled to see her parents in the circle. Dad and Mum were not entirely comfortable, but they wanted very much to be with her on her "special day". Even if it were at night. They wore ceremonial robes as well, as her parents, and looked quite fine in them, she thought. Luna's father had joined them, and he seemed the most comfortable with the proceedings; even moreso than his daughter.

Forming another ring around that one were the house-elves. They added their magic to the circle, wards that complemented the binding magic rather than competing with it. Elves from all the Houses represented as well as any that had a wish to come were welcomed by Krinkle and Connie.

Even Mitts had left the security of the Kensington house to come to the ceremony. She had attached herself to Harry and Luna for the evening.

In contrast to what the guests and family wore, Hermione's own robes were of Acromantula silk, but underneath them, she was bare as the day she was born. Sirius was likewise garbed, but his robes were black while hers were white as she had come to him a virgin. That the loss of her virginity had happened almost a year ago was irrelevant as they'd been discovered soulmates before it happened.

Promises were made in well-rehearsed Irish Gaelic. Their union acclaimed by all who came to witness it, and they fully acknowledged their status as soulmates before all present.

"And thus your bond will be eternal, in this life and the next," Lady Ehrmengard declared, sketching out white-gold runes of binding in the air over their joined hands. She duplicated the airborne runes on their wrists, so that they were tattooed on their skins.

It stung. Rather more than she thought it might. But she welcomed the pain as she saw the delight in Sirius's bright gray eyes.

"And now Missy Otter is our Lady Black!"

It was reason enough to kiss the groom.

* * *

"How come I didn't know you owned an island?"

Sirius smirked as he divested his wife of her white silk robe. "Hmmm?" he asked, his lips surrounding the pebbled peak of a breast.

She gasped, as intended. "An island, Lord Black?"

"In the family for generations, Lady Black." Then, he stood to his full height and wandlessly sent the robe to float lightly to the back of a chair in the room of the cottage. "Merlin. Lady Black." Pride welled within him to know she'd taken his name, become his own, and was standing before him now with their bonding tattoo fresh on her wrist. He kissed that wrist, then, in the gesture he knew she adored for it made her shiver, even now. "My lady."

"Your lady, Lord Black," she murmured, closing the distance between them to kiss his wrist as well. Her lips on the tattoo sent a jolt of sensual energy right to his cock, which claimed pride of place between them. "Mmm, liked that, did you?"

"Apparently."

She dropped unexpectedly to her knees and proceeded to remind him just how much sensual energy she could impart with her tongue. "Beltane," he gasped out when he could, "is apparently a good time of year for you."

She laughed before relaxing her throat and taking him deep until he swore to Merlin and Godric Gryffindor. His climax rocked him to his toes and he wanted nothing so much as to make her completely mad with her own.

He did his best. She touched him after he'd dropped her with no ceremony whatsoever to the bed. "Beltane's good for you as well, my lord."

"Say it again," he demanded, kissing his way up her legs, smirking as he bypassed her clit and licked her navel instead.

"Only if I really mean it," she countered, squirming beneath his hands.

Then, he decided to surprise her, telling her in French, the language they'd used when they'd first met, how many ways he wanted to love her before the sun rose.

* * *

Remus and Charlie hovered around their mate without apology over Yule. She sighed loudly whenever anyone mentioned the twins she carried, for she knew everyone wanted to know if she knew which of her men had fathered them.

"Both!" she eventually shouted, startling the house-elves so much that Connie dropped a tray. _Unheard of_. "Both, all right? Enough, already. Blame it on Beltane!" The Metamorphmagus then treated them to a series of hair colors that cycled between black, pink, red, and sandy blond. Over and over. "Oi, Hermione!" Tonks then called, having no care as to social decorum, and no one dared to look askance at her with her men on either side. "How'd you manage not to get up the duff?"

Sirius shook his head and eyed his cousin darkly. "Our reproductive business is our reproductive business, _Nymphadora_."

"Oi!"

Harry had proposed to Luna before dinner that evening, in front of everyone, and their announcement carried the rest of the evening.

Their _private_ binding ceremony would take place the summer after Luna graduated from Hogwarts.

* * *

 ** _1 September 2012, King's Cross Station_**

"Lady Black! Lady Black!"

"You can't be serious—no, don't, love," Hermione muttered. "Hasn't she been put to pasture yet?"

"Apparently not."

Rita Skeeter approached, quill at the ready. Her glasses were huge and round, these days, and her robes less figure-hugging and more given to pin-striping. "Miss Skeeter, how do you do?" Hermione said in greeting, her tone bland and off-putting.

Rita Skeeter didn't choose to be put off. "Lady Black! So glad to have caught you here this morning. Sending your little one off to Hogwarts?"

Sirius held their youngest, Ara, in one arm whilst their middle girl, Lyra, clung to his hand. Hermione had her arm around their eldest's shoulders. "Indeed. Aster, this is Rita Skeeter, reporter for The Daily Prophet."

Asterope—her actual name, which the girl enjoyed writing even if she preferred the truncated version spoken—nodded distantly. "Miss Skeeter. Yes, I'm starting Hogwarts this year. How long ago did _you_ graduate?"

"Aster," Hermione said, surprised but not overly so to see the mischief in her firstborn's gray eyes. Aster's hair was brown but smooth. Her younger sisters had inherited their father's hair and mother's features. "Did you have a reason to hail me, Miss Skeeter?"

"Er, yes. It's about the Centaur Education Act, you see . . ."

"Please owl me Monday, if you would. Today is for my family."

With such a dismissal, Skeeter had no choice but to comply and she edged sheepishly away.

"Daddy! She smelt like old sweet cream," Lyra said, wrinkling her nose.

"Daddy! She smell!" Ara chimed in.

Sirius laughed, long and loud, cuddling his younger daughters to himself whilst Aster embraced them as well as she could. "I love my girls," he said to no one in particular. "Every single one of them."

"It's only fair, you know. Since I've all sons." Remus Lupin joined them, then. His twins were beginning their third year at the school. The triad's youngest was not yet of age to go.

Sirius paled. "I never thought of that," he whispered, sending a look to Hermione.

She grinned. "Really? I did. I think it was that one time I Floo'd over to ask Tonks about my first pregnancy and caught them—"

"Not in front of the girls!" Remus and Sirius demanded.

Young Edward Lupin joined them. "Aster! Brilliant! So glad you're finally here. C'mon, let's get sorted, yeah?"

With barely a backward glance, Aster matched the boy's pace and Sirius let out a nearly canine whine. "When did _that_ happen?"

"Don't worry, Dad. You've still got me and Ara," Lyra said with all the wisdom of her nine years.

"Got me!" Ara declared, patting her father's cheek.

Hermione leaned in and kissed her husband softly on the jaw. "We'll just sic Harry on 'em," she murmured.

Sirius brightened considerably. The Scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Black was a certifiable badass and he'd defend his little sisters against the terrible boys of the House of Lupin.

* * *

 ** _1 September 2020, Kensington House, London_**

"Mmm, right there," Sirius whispered, his feet across his wife's lap. "Perfect, love. Just perfect."

"No one's home. It's kind of weird," Hermione said, massaging her husband's feet after a day spent at the train station, then with Harry and Luna, who had sent their youngest off to Hogwarts for the first time that day as well, just as Ara had gone. "No grandkids this year."

"It's too quiet."

"Want to make some noise?" she asked, tickling his toes.

"Sixty's just a number, anyway," he said, referring to his age and moving with great speed to pull her atop him on the sofa. "I think I can still make a lot of noise. Can you?"

"Try me."

They were both crying out loud enough to make Mitts take cover when they heard, "Padfoot! Close the bleeding Floo!"

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Naked Luna weddings are my headcanon, thanks to **Shayalonnie** and **Colubrina**._

 _Thank you all for joining me in this AU. It's been a pleasure. - LJ Summers_


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